Lost Is My Name
by Acadis-Vulgaris
Summary: Personal interpretation of pre-Adventure/02. Revived by darkness, and condemned to a half-life to find a lost love, he must collect the broken to become whole again, while others view this immortal as a pawn... please read or he will have your blood! XD
1. Revangelis

This full story came about from too much heavy metal, and getting the overwhelming urge to rewatch the entire Vamdemon arc of Digimon Adventure on a whim… ideas kept bombarding me at work, and I'd always have to write it down the minute I got home. Hopefully this will compensate for all of the times I RUINED everyone back in 2002-2005. This is all for practice, so I'm more than accepting of suggestions on how to improve my writing.

Here is my own personal interpretation of pre-Adventure and pre-Adventure Zero Two. It was originally going to be a simple deconstruction of Vamdemon's character, but noticing the obscene amounts of plot holes in Adventure, I decided to revamp (pun not intended) the whole thing and make it a story in which Vamdemon is the mastermind behind not only Zero Two, but Adventure. It answers questions such as 1) how Vamdemon acquired Hikari's crest, 2) why the Dark Masters were subdued prior to the Chosen Children returning to Earth, 3) why Tailmon was the obvious "favourite" of Vamdemon's henchmons (and the obsession with her eyes will also be addressed!) 4) what the deal is with Daemon in Zero Two, and 5) lots of Yukio Oikawa because there just wasn't enough of his backstory in the second season and he is awesome. And a lot of other stuff, but it's already TL;DR to begin with so I will leave it there.

I try to stay true to the original series, including character names, as closely as possible. However if I accidentally slip and use an English dub name, that was a mistake on my part and will be corrected. If anything is unclear to you, it may be addressed in a future chapter or I'll let you know in an author's note. My stuff has more plotholes than Adventure and I really do have difficulty keeping things straight! I'm not one to hold the author's hand either, so something that may be obvious to me as I write it may not be obvious to the reader.

As usual, I don't own Digimon or its characters. The song lyrics that appear in the prologue are from a public domain song from the eighteenth century called "All Through the Night." Thanks to The Digimon Wikia for research assistance!

* * *

><p><em><strong>Lost Is My Name<strong>_

**by Petsy**

Prologue – Revangelis

He was an Infant when he first saw the world. His blue eyes smiled to it; nothing extended beyond the coloured blocks and bubbles floating through the air, and emotions beyond happiness and sadness were relegated to nothing but words. Like childhood innocence, this ephemeral world fleeted away before his eyes, and such a vision could never again come into being. She left with the sunset, sending him to fall forevermore. He would spend the remainder of his life pursuing a dream.

His childhood blurred into a dream state. The two played amongst the blocks, laughed, and defied danger by plucking apples from the trees. As they grew and changed form, they strolled through the lush glens, frolicked in the river, and journeyed to the top of the mountain.

"Come, let me show you the world," she said, leading him to a cliff which overlooked the entire island—its snow-covered peaks, its endless forests, the sea surrounding its shores, and the tiny speck of colour representing their village. "This is all ours… they say everyone shares it, but it still all belongs to us."

The surroundings did not matter to him; with her, he would have been happy whilst stranded in the middle of a desert. She was his world; the scope of his sight narrowed only to her, and all he could see was the solitary island that was _her. _Like the island they gazed upon, such world was fragile, easily deceiving, even cruel to those who could be easily misled.

That night they camped by the firelight, as they lay upon the stone she sang her favourite childhood shanty. He fell asleep with the lyrics resonating in his mind, her angelic voice seemingly singing it only to him.

_All through the night-time my lonely heart is singing  
>Sweeter songs of love than the brown bird ever knew.<br>Would that the song of my heart could go winging,  
>Could go winging to you,<br>To you._

* * *

><p>He drifted through an endless void speckled with stars; his body numb, as if the velveteen sky had wrapped and mummified him. He did not know where he was, how he had come to be there, and for a fleeting moment, who he was. He felt himself; had he not been sentient he would not be able to perceive the world around him. However every semblance of his past life had vanished without a trace.<p>

"Welcome, Azraelmon."

Although reduced to an amorphous cloud of data, a voice echoed within him, penetrating his soul and being.

"Who are you?" he thought.

"There is no need to discuss my identity; you are here because you are finished, my child."

"Finished?" he wondered.

Before him appeared a crystal of translucent amethyst; perfectly cut and symmetrical. Within such a flawless dodecahedron festered a dark mist that thrashed away at its crystal prison. Two pairs of yellow eyes flashed on and off for split seconds as the mist writhed. Seeing the crystal gave the former creature's soul a dismal sense of disquietude. "Yes, Azraelmon. Finished," spoke the crystal.

Azraelmon.

The creature remembered who he had been, bridging him to the realization of what he was now. Dead, or about to become dead. He could not be dead; his soul was clearly sentient; his soul _was._ Death implied _was not_… a river of thoughts, audible to the crystal, careened through him.

"Who are you?" the former Azraelmon asked again, not speaking but through his stream of consciousness. "Am I dead?"

"No, my child, you are not dead. You are still a sentient being, and as you said, you _are_. Death implies an end to all, and a being that _is_ is not. You still _are_, albeit data."

But could he be reconfigured? If he had a heart, it would have pounded in his throat, and had he a stomach it would have squeezed itself into oblivion.

"Your egg has been destroyed. One can only be reconfigured if your egg still remains in the safe womb of Primary Village. Your data cannot assume a corporeal form, therefore it cannot be utilised by this world. Stray data bogs the world down and overthrows the balance between all states. My Death Crystal shall permanently delete you to make room for a new generation of digimon."

Terror engulfed the former Azraelmon as he felt his soul cleaving in twain, spreading wider and thinner than any tangible substance, to infinity. He wished to _be_, there was so much he desired to experience, he wanted his world… could this crystal before him please have mercy?

His senses blackened. He faded and flickered.

So this was what it was like to die…

So soon, when he had not even found her.

"I see that unlike other digimon before you, you are not as accepting of your fate." Out of the crystal rolled a blue orb protruding from a sheath of white vines, which formed a pedestal beneath it. "Thus I shall bestow upon you a choice, but each path you choose has its respective consequences. You only have a short amount of time to make your decision, so choose wisely. The effects of either is irreversible…"

"Please tell me," implored the soul. "I would give anything for one more chance."

The soul felt itself reassembling, regaining its consciousness and clear mental state.

"You may either accept your fate and allow my Death Crystal to delete you, knowing that you have done good for all beings that shall soon be created. The world will still hang in balance, neither light nor darkness shall prevail, and the sources of this world's downfall shall remain trapped behind the wall of fire and within the ocean of darkness.

"If you may place your soul within this Digitama, you will be reborn where you last fell. Those born of your Digitama shall be unbreakable; as light exists, so will darkness, thus you will forever remain immortal. Becoming an immortal is a condemnation to a half-life, unfulfilled, constantly suffering and starving for what you yearned for in the life before. Some regard immortality as a fate worse than death.

"Only five before you have taken this route. A Mugendramon, a Jyuraimon, a Seadramon, and the Azraelmon before you, all mortally wounded like yourself, chose to be revived by the powers of darkness. This power who revived them was a force greater than myself. It was pure darkness from the body of a chimaera of all of the digimon who perished in their failure to achieve a higher form, melded together by the pain and suffering of those who have passed. This revival was an act of cowardice." The tone of the crystal's voice darkened, laced with resentment. "All four were reconstructed into powerful and deadly beings, achieving their highest forms. The creature built from sorrow and darkness infused its powers into them to bring a stygian state upon the digital world whose light counterbalanced him. This upset the cosmic balance, and the powers of light flourished to send these four cursed beings to their downfall. Two have been reconfigured; one Digitama rests beneath the sea, the other in the heart of the forest. The third remains in the digital world, intent on reviving his master and comrades, though he is subdued.

"The fourth, a Mugendramon, had been reconfigured as it fought the fifth, a Kimeramon. Both, fearing for their lives, fused together and are trapped within their prison, like the source of their powers rests behind the wall of fire, for an eternity."

"Will the same thing happen to me?" wondered the soul.

"Only if your destiny states it will, replied the voice. "There will be consequences for the digital world as well. Your immortality may tip the scale between light and darkness. Beings sealed within their prisons may be released and plunge this world into chaos, others running rampant may perish, and other worlds may unwillingly become involved in bringing the digital world into restoration. At this moment, you alone are responsible for determining the fate of this world, whether or not it remains in the balance or is plunged into light or darkness."

It was clear that this voice was a proponent of predestination. This soul knew he did not believe in such. This crystal knew nothing, it may have been a simple scare tactic to persuade him to accept his fate. Prophecy and destiny were the tools of the ingenuous. Only the most childlike and gullible digimon believed in such nonsense. All he wanted was his loved one, and she would not lead him astray. Remaining with her would surely not upset any alleged "balance"; he could remain immortal, find her, and remain fulfilled for an eternity. The other two whose stories were spoken by the crystal—most clearly those whose spirits were concealed within the crystal—were easily misled. He would not make the same mistake. Immortality could not always be a fate worse than death, but more glorious than life itself. It was life multiplied one thousandfold! Immortality was his choosing, not his fate, and he would mould it at will.

"I see that you have chosen your path. Remember it when your time comes…"

The orb cracked open. With a mighty gust, the soul was sucked inside, compressed, wiped clean of all existing memories.

To save one's soul, we need nothing more than regret, and this regret shall become his fall.

One cannot kill the undead.


	2. Paranoid Circus

Footnotes:

Azraelmon is my own creation; Pegasusmon has no known evolutions so I created an angel digimon as his Perfect form. His name is derived from Azrael, the Archangel of Death in Jewish and Islamic theology, who separates dying souls from the body and receives spirits of the dead.

I took some liberties with the Dark Masters as well as Vamdemon. There is a reference to all four of them in the last chapter; see if you can catch it and guess how they originated!

Tsukaimon is the dark form of Patamon.

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><p><strong>Chapter One – Paranoid Circus<strong>

Before him sprawled an endless sea of windswept dunes and harsh, arid air. The harsh light and sand battered his face before he could escape his oviparous prison. The brittle eggshell, caressed by the desert air, cracked until its inhabitant could sprawl out. Gasping for air, without any assistance from the unforgiving surroundings, the creature hatched from his Digitama and fell onto the sand dune. Instantly, the sand blanketed his vessel.

He blinked.

Where was he? Who was he? _Why_ was he? Was he not dead, or had it been a dream?

Glancing to his left, he saw his former home had sunk beneath the endless sea of sand. To his right, the same sea rippled across his line of sight. Forward and backward gave the same image. Why had he not been placed in a better home? He was alone, left to fend for himself in the great evolution chain, and would die as quickly as he came back into being.

This was not his home. His home was a vast green field filled with coloured blocks, trees producing a harvest of apples and toys, and the forgiving caress of a cradle. He had a caretaker, companions, an identity… but now all had vanished. He knew he was in search of something, or someone, but had no recollection of whom. He decided to follow the sun, not directly above him in the scorching sky, and inched through his new surroundings.

Poyomon.

Was that still his name? Although he could not see himself to discern his species, the name felt _right._ Little by little, his memory trickled in. Thirst gripped at his throat, hunger gnawed away at his stomach, and the sun baked his skin, but amidst his plight he began to remember.

Yes, his name was—no, _he_ was Poyomon. He was _a_ Poyomon. He was _once_ a Poyomon, then a Tokomon, a Patamon, a Pegasusmon, Azraelmon.

The sand began to engulf him as a storm brewed on the horizon, staining the azure sky a sickly brown. Wind whipped sand into his face; he plodded along with his eyes squeezed shut.

He did not remember how he arrived in this desert. For whom was he searching? Neon strings danced before his eyes, still shut to shield the corneas from the sand. There was someone…

He tripped over a dune and fell face-first into the sand, feeling the tasteless grains fill his mouth.

What was that emotion? He loved someone, very much… looking into those wide, azure eyes filled him with the greatest joy. One look from those eyes reassured him that the world was good to him.

He picked himself up and shook the grains off the front of his body. His world spun around him as he swallowed thirst and starvation.

Who was she?

Nyaromon. Salamon. Tailmon. Nefertimon.

She showed him the world. She was his world. He loved her and would have given his life for her. As Nefertimon, she disappeared often following their childhood on the island. As Pegasusmon, he spent many sleepless days and nights atop the mountain. He could see the entire world from that cliff, standing vigilant like a silent guardian, searching for even a glimpse of her return. It was almost lunatic, the number of days the armour-clad, equine knight spent atop the mountain. Yet he remained steadfast, the stubborn creature he was. He did not even wonder if his egg had been destroyed when a swarm of screeching, wide-mouthed bats with human hands rampaged through his former village, smashing Digitamas and ripping apart everything they touched. The only question on his mind was whether or not Nefertimon was safe.

"We are here for your Digitamas," explained one of the creatures, a horrifying chimaera between a vampire bat and monkey, when confronted by Pegasusmon. "Anyone foolish enough to get in our way will suffer the consequences."

_Nightmare Shocker!_

Pegasusmon was knocked back by a skull-splitting supersonic wave that even penetrated his armour. All he knew and felt was a night terror, a cold sweat, screaming… his screaming, Nefertimon's, he could not discern between the reality and nightmare…

When he awoke, the Evilmon had long since disappeared, leaving a wasteland of ragged blocks and shattered Digitamas where Primary Village once stood. There was no news of Nefertimon… hearsay said she made a new home in the desert on a continent across the sea. He flew across the ocean for days and nights, exhausted and starving from the sheer effort, trying to ignore the worrisome thoughts that plagued his mind. His memories of the desert blurred into a dream of sand and sky, thirst, mirages, illusion, longing… his only recollection was dragging himself into a coliseum only to be confronted by a skeletal beast whose beating heart throbbed beneath its ribcage. In a final attempt to preserve his life, he evolved to Azraelmon and shot a bolt of lightning into the SkullGreymon's heart, dismantling the bones and reverting it to its former egg state. However, the dehydration, starvation, and sheer effort invested into evolving had ravaged him so severely, Azraelmon collapsed beside the pile of bones and was left to fade to pieces in the heat of the sun.

Azraelmon. Nothingness. Data. Poyomon. _Lost._

A brown spout rose from the cloud, puncturing the blue sky. Reliving his state as Azraelmon, Poyomon collapsed into the bank of sand, yielding himself to the wrath of the sand devil. His hunger bore away at him, and he struggled to absorb anything from his surroundings into him, even weak energy could be derived from the environment. The sand spout advancing towards him had some form of energy at its core… The warm sand washed over him, burying him like his Digitama. He could feel the heart of the storm pouring its energy into him.

Although any other being at the Infant level would have perished, he awoke minutes, hours, possibly days later to hear a buzzing of voices above him. He had no recollection of how much time had passed or why he was still alive. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, sand danced in his nose and lungs, and his feeble coughs indicated he was still alive.

"What is it?"

"A second-stage Infant… a Tokomon… odd looking one, all black…."

So he was a Tokomon?

He felt sets of hands vigorously brushing the sand off of him, scratching his face with their unclipped claws, exposing him to the desert sun again. At one point he could smell his rescuer's (or rescuers') rancid breath grazing his face and a wet nose sniffing him for a carrion odour.

"It's alive."

"Impossible! No Infant-level digimon could survive this desert."

Poyomon, now Tokomon, opened his eyes to see a blurred field of vision. He coughed again, hacking up the stray grains of sand in his respiratory tract. A scorching white light and black shapes danced before him. The voices of his rescuers haunted him… they were identical to the rusty-drainpipe voices from the nightmare he had on the attack on the village.

"He's bewitched…" whispered one black form to the other. "No Tokomon has ever been seen with blue eyes."

A third black figure, a shapely hourglass, floated down between the two strange, beastly forms. "You fools think everything is witchcraft," it scolded the other voices in a dark, sultry female tone, and ran her hand over the Tokomon's skin. He immediately shivered at the third creature's touch, feeling what was left of his energy draining right into her. "Corrupted data that failed to reproduce its original code," she mused. "The black hide and blue eyes are clearly a phenotype, attributed to what those primitive 'human' creatures attribute to 'genetic mutations.'" She accentuated the last words. Tokomon felt his head spin at so many unfamiliar terms. The larger figure promptly smacked the other two. "This is only an Infant! What do you suppose it is going to do, seduce us and drain our blood? It might as well be left for dead. You dolts fearing witchcraft…" she scoffed. "For whom do you think you work?"

"Forgiveness, LadyDevimon."

"We apologise," echoed the other subordinate's voice.

"But…"

"But _what_?" snapped the female voice, which the terrified Tokomon knew belonged to a LadyDevimon. "You do not _but_ your superior!" A sound of a slap, followed by a yelp, punctuated the speech.

"It's alive, milady. No digimon of its level could survive out in the middle of the desert like this, unless it truly was bewitched."

The first figure rubbed what could only be the side of its face. "Yes, my dark mistress, exactly what my partner said."

The dark Tokomon wondered what was going to happen to him, what these three were doing in the middle of the desert… if they were going to kill him. He barely knew his own self in this state, wrenched from his home and stranded in the middle of a desert, left to die by the unforgiving environment yet here he was, alive.

LadyDevimon's lips, now clearer on her blurred visage, curled into a grin. "If the desert did not take care of this poor creature, we really ought to put it out of its misery…" Her voice sounded eerily calm, too dangerous. Tokomon felt his weary heart slowly pounding in his throat. "Why prolong its suffering, am I right, minions? Lord Piemon would not take too kindly to us dwelling over an infant when we have bigger Fishmon to fry."

Tokomon lay helplessly in the sand, bracing himself for his end. His return to the digital world was unfulfilled, how he hungered and thirsted for more life but was granted so little.

_Darkness wave!_

Tokomon saw countless creatures of darkness rushing towards him, grazing and burning at his skin as he clenched his eyes shut. He did not want to end like this, he wanted power, energy, a life…

He felt one of the creatures burning into his skin and phasing into his body, not piercing it or ripping his soul apart, but generating a pleasant warmth. Like the first raindrops giving way to a storm, more shadow creatures fused into his body, reviving him, making him whole… an ice-blue light soon enveloped him. Appendages sprouted from his body, branching off into bat wings. His body grew slightly in size and plumped up like a cherub's.

_Tokomon, digivolve to Tsukaimon._

"But how?"

The ice-blue light surrounding Tokomon, now Tsukaimon, had not yet died down.

"He absorbed your attack!"

"Witchcraft!"

"It's a demon!"

"Silence, you two nincompoops. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, fearing a creature at a lower level than yourselves. Lord Piemon will know how to deal with this…"

_Scratch beat!_

Before Tsukaimon could fully grasp what was happening, he felt two sudden stabs in his back, and the wet, burning trickle of blood infused with venom running down to the sand below. His vision clouded and darkened, and a freezing wave rushed over his body, paralyzing and numbing him.

* * *

><p>"It appears that our performance has a twist in its plot… the estranged younger brother!" Tsukaimon heard a maniacal cackle echoing through whatever chamber he lay inside. "Oh, how I love a good <em>mindfuck<em> such as this. _Bienvenue,_ _mon frère, _to laugh and tragic_._"

Tsukaimon opened his eyes to find himself inside a royal-blue chamber, fashioned after a massive tent of sorts. A gigantic canopy draped the full ceiling, in addition to the strange, alien objects below. Tsukaimon himself lay on a decorative chintz pillow by a throne. A dark figure swung across the chamber from the trapezes to land alongside the dark form of Patamon. His captor appeared to be a harlequin, wearing a variegated suit of red and green and smelling as if he had imbibed an exorbitant amount of alcohol.

"The estranged brother," said the clown, peering down at Tsukaimon from behind his bicoloured mask. His voice seemed to have attained a Shakespearian dialect, and he rolled his R's with precision. "What a crux for the plot!"

Tsukaimon was utterly confused. This captor was obviously mentally unsound… "I… I think you are mistaking me for someone else."

"Amnesia… common of the trope," mused the harlequin, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "Of course you and I are brothers! You think a phantom such as myself is blind to reading your soul? You have much to learn, child… you are as easy to read as an unrehearsed script! We are both fallen Azraelmons, born of corrupted data, thus we are naught more than brethren! Now come, let us celebrate the return of the prodigal son!"

Surely enough, the eccentric clown standing before the winged dark messenger vaguely resembled his previous Perfect form. He had the same facial structure and hair, despite the fact that his hair had been fashioned into an impossible updo, and the mask shielding the upper half of his head resembled his own as Azraelmon's, right down to the cutaway eye holes. However this form appeared to be corrupted into a phantom type and disguised in a piebald ensemble and layers of grease paint. Judging from appearance, this creature _was_ an Azraelmon at one point, but now he was not, thus Tsukaimon had become the new digital angel. Now that Tsukaimon had also been corrupted, no doubt a replacement already hatched from the village.

Little remained in the Virus's recollection of the events of that night. Terrified, he was brought to a long table, at which sat his captor—who he later learned was named Piemon—and several of his fellow phantom minions (including LadyDevimon, who gazed hungrily at Tsukaimon as if she wished to stuff an apple in his mouth and serve him for dinner.) Tsukaimon was served a chalice full of ruby-red drink unlike anything he had ever tasted before—the liquid burned and stung his throat as it poured down, numbing his body and clouding his senses. Everything passed in a vibrant blur, colours swirling before his eyes, raucous laughter of the dinner guests echoing in his ears, and new feelings emerging as more of the drink was imbibed. Fear. Desperation. Paranoia. Numbness. His world swirled about him for days until he was drunk into submission.

* * *

><p>The wine was truly a devil's drink. Water was unheard of here. The ruby liquid stung his nose and throat. He coughed and sputtered, knowing it would be minutes before it flowed through his veins and beat his brain into an alien state. Paranoia. Despair. Nonexistent shadows lurking around every corner. Everyone was after him. Every morning his head throbbed, his stomach churned, and the distinct, permanent odour of alcohol on Piemon's breath reeked worse than death itself to Tsukaimon, on those rare moments when he and the harlequin conversed outside of nightly feasts and message delivery.<p>

Yet the allure of wine and alcohol counterbalanced its repugnance. It numbed the physical and emotional pain he endured daily, in which he would be trained to operate a complex mechanical digimon from the inside and fight Bakemon in human guise. As Piemon regarded this as an elabourately-staged performance, rarely were Tsukaimon's injuries taken seriously. This led to a vicious cycle of diminished performance, which in turn would provoke LadyDevimon to whip him into a more debilitated state. His back stung from the wine-soaked cloth she placed on it to prevent infection; there was nothing less efficient than a servant with gangrene.

The nightly wine was quite apt to repress the whippings from LadyDevimon and occasional verbal abuse from Piemon himself. Both proved to be quite volatile, particularly in an intoxicated state when any otherwise trite event could set them off. Tsukaimon could no longer count the number of times he had been whipped for setting foot in a chamber at the wrong time. _"It appears brother Tsukaimon is quite the meddlesome character." "Shall I whip the little fucker?" "But of course, my dear… the Tailmon o' nine tails shall be your Deus ex Machina."_ Threats peppered with theatrical tropes became a more frequent threat. Soon the punishments could be predicted—there was always some sort of mention of "props" or "trinkets" just prior to Tsukaimon's whippings. In his sober state, although it seemed that the messenger's mind had completely fogged, he knew it was a code for a desirable object… perhaps one that was more suited for him than that raging volcano and his demonic concubine… or something he could trade for his freedom.

Yet Tsukaimon's desire to learn more of these trinkets remained unfulfilled, even subdued, by the wine that quenched his thirst during the day. As time passed, the drink beclouded his mind and muddied existing memories of his existence, his identity, his past. Sometimes as he drifted off to sleep, strains of song echoed through the recesses of his mind, punctuated by the anxieties that plagued him in his vulnerable state.

_All through the night there's a … singing, _

(Trinkets)

_Singing in the … the darkness and the dew. _

(What was that... is an Evilmon here to stab me? No, it is only my wing... shit, why are they out to get me?)

…_through the stillness could go winging, could go winging to you, to you. To you… to you… to you… _

(Where is she?)

_All through the night_…_ my lonely heart… _

(Trinkets)

_Would that the song of my heart could go winging, could go winging to you, to you. _

* * *

><p>It seemed that Tsukaimon would have to prove himself a formidable chessmaster if he wished to know the identity and purposes of these so-called "trinkets." That meant gathering his wits about him, and eschewing the alcohol. Finding a water source to slake his thirst was nearly impossible, as he was either inside the lair or, on fighting days, a coliseum. However, through listening to the conversations of other prisoners, he learned that the bizarre circus lay beneath a benign amusement park near a river. As the water source continuously pounded against the architecture, Tsukaimon came to learn that the structural integrity of his surroundings was less than perfect. Leaks in the ceiling, pools at the bottom of the circus arena, and fruit served at dinner were the best sources of hydration.<p>

As he weaned himself off the alcohol, not needing to guzzle so much at mealtime to slake his thirst, the fog in his mind evaporated to allow him to focus on his settings. Piemon was especially prone to having a loose tongue when stewed, which resulted in a firm reprimand from LadyDevimon whenever he became too mealymouthed. _"That is too much from you; there are children present. Servants, you heard nothing."_ The world seemed less vibrant and more bleak, and the behaviour of the other servants at these dinners disgusted him. Had he really stooped to their level?

He was a disgrace to himself. The few times he was able to cast a glance at his reflection in a puddle, he could not even recognise the face that stared back. He was a rare phenotype of Tsukaimon; his eyes ice-blue, top portion crimson, and belly and legs dark blue. He knew that he would need to escape this demented circus if he were to ever return to his old self again.

Switching to water, albeit a move of desperation, also seemed to return some semblance of his old identity to Tsukaimon. His awareness of himself and his surroundings flourished. Nefertimon. Return to Nefertimon. Steal the trinkets. Such avid miscellany collectors such as Piemon would trade anything to complete the collection. Exchange them for freedom. All he would need to know was the identity and location of these objects…

However, as the best laid plans of mice and 'mons were prone to go awry, Tsukaimon's hindrance was LadyDevimon. It was becoming more apparent that she had noticed the changes in his behaviour and performance, and she spent more time surveying the Child type like a mother Hawkmon. Many a time had Tsukaimon given a nonchalant sideways glance to find his blue eyes had met LadyDevimon's blood-red ones. He could rarely set foot in another room without the demoness ambushing him and questioning his motives. Fortunately, Tsukaimon had his alibis for hanging around rivers or puddles of water, the most common of which was _I am relieving myself. That wine goes right through you and I can't work a full bladder._ He knew it would always be met by a smack upside the head and a reprimand of _Use the straw, you filthy swine!_ Still, such flimsy excuses did not appease an intelligent Perfect species like LadyDevimon, and Tsukaimon could rarely avoid the breath down his back.

One day, as the army had ventured to the bottom of the circus arena for Mekanorimon training and combat, Tsukaimon had finished his own round with a Bakemon and climbed out of his vessel. He passed another leak in the ceiling as he made his way down the hall, and hoped he could "relieve himself", as his own code put it, when LadyDevimon was not observing him. However, before he could make the first move, he heard the unmistakable female voice that sent the "I got caught" shiver down his back.

"Why, our little trump card, you seem much less maladroit than you had been," she remarked with a grin. "No pushing wrong buttons whilst operating your Mekanorimon vessel, nor forgetting your position in combat. I am thoroughly impressed by your performance…"

Tsukaimon attempted to give a sway and slur his speech, although he was never aware of his behaviour (or vocabulary, or lack thereof) whilst intoxicated. "Well, my malevolent Dark Mistress, it can only be expected that dexterity improves when the body is constantly subjected to alcohol. Learning… learning is an amazing thing. Simply marvelous."

LadyDevimon grabbed Tsukaimon by the wing and brought him up to her face, sniffing him around the oral area. She promptly hurled him down to the ground, and he felt as if his head had split in two from the impact. He glanced up at her to notice her lips had curled into a sinister grin.

"You appear dehydrated, little piglet." She took the goatskin wine bag that was slung around her shoulder and offered it to Tsukaimon, who politely declined.

"I assure you, I have _drunk_ plenty today."

"No, you are clearly delirious. Your mouth is dry and sticky and your eyes have sunken in." Like a mother offering food to a fussy child, she brought the wine bag's nozzle closer to Tsukaimon's mouth. "Drink, child…"

Tsukaimon felt his heart pounding, clouding his vision. How could he avoid this? Apprehensively, he sucked a mouthful of the wine out of the nozzle, enough so his cheeks would not bulge, and pretended to swallow. His eyes watered and he stifled a cough as the alcohol burned his oral and nasal cavities.

The dark temptress cracked a toothy grin, baring her tiny fangs. "Good pet… perhaps you ought to have another. Drink your fill; it is good wine, do you not agree?"

Tsukaimon nodded.

LadyDevimon gave her underling a hard stare, then held out the bota bag again. "Here, piggy, drink up."

Tsukaimon held out a wing in declination, and fluttered off in the direction of the Mekanorimon he was to operate.

"It is not your turn to fight; it is your turn to rehydrate. Even operating a machine can cause water loss."

Tsukaimon felt his eyes watering, and he stifled another cough. It was impossible to find a place where he could spit out the wine without getting caught. He frantically whirled his head around in search of a place to hide his behaviour, but he was cornered.

A chafed expression crossed LadyDevimon's face, and her voice was laced with irritability. "Why are you running around like a lunatic? Honestly, you are worse than the Evilmon who raided the master's liquor stash. Here, let me relieve your _choking_!" Before the imp could escape the situation, a hand whacked his back, forcing him to spit out the wine he had hoarded in his mouth, and the liquid sloshed out onto the floor in a crimson puddle. Tsukaimon coughed and sputtered, feeling the fresh air gushing into his mouth, followed by his stomach dropping below the floor when he saw the puddle of wine. The demoness's taloned hand wrenched around one of Tsukaimon's front paws and hung him upside down in front of her face. "So, you thought you could pull a fast one on me," she declared with a sneer. "A _modus operandi _of a criminal mind… so tell me your hidden motive."

"I had none," Tsukaimon replied stupidly. "I just don't like wine."

LadyDevimon brought Tsukaimon closer to her face, staring him square in the eyes. Tsukaimon promptly glanced away and stared at the floor, which was so far below him. "Odd how you say that, as it has been your favourite- or should I say, _only_ drink until recently. You simply marinated in it… You developed your distaste so suddenly."

"My stomach suddenly rejected it," said Tsukaimon. "I have not been able to touch wine since."

"Tell me when this happened."

"Recently."

"How recently?"

"I have no knowledge of time passage."

"Your behaviour explains otherwise. Secretive, paranoid, attempting to cover up your actions with obvious lies… if I did not know better, you appear to be plotting your escape! Lord Piemon will be most displeased with your actions."

"I doubt he would; he is either stewed as a prune or pretending all the world's a stage."

LadyDevimon growled. "Insubordination! Lies! _TRAITOR!_" She hurled Tsukaimon against his empty Mekanorimon, relishing the fact that he squealed like a stuck pig. "I have no choice but to make an example out of you. And if any of you try to help him, start digging your own miserable graves."

The impact knocked the wind out of him, he felt as if his body were splitting in two, and before he could open his eyes the armour bludgeoned his body from behind. Burning. Shadow creatures, wide-mouthed and screeching, gnawed at him, lacerating him, drenching him in his own blood.

Tsukaimon clenched his eyes shut and gnashed his teeth with every creature that seared into him. Poisoned, decaying, consumed from the inside…

LadyDevimon's chuckling echoed through the hall and the messenger's ears. "Have you had enough or are you ready to bow down to your master?" She approached Tsukaimon, now lying limp on the ground with staggered breathing and in a bloody mess, and proceeded to pour the contents of the bota bag onto her victim. The wine seeped into his wounds, stinging the raw flesh. "If you prefer to not drink the wine, there are other ways to get it running through your veins." With a deep chuckle, she kicked him for good measure.

Tsukaimon winced, still shutting his eyes and breathing heavily.

"Now affirm your loyalty to the master, _my pet._"

But could he be loyal? He would not lower himself like this. He knew he had been caught. There was no escape, unless he somehow brought down Piemon himself, or better yet, LadyDevimon. He was condemned. How did he reach this stage? His mind still clouded.

LadyDevimon sneered at her victim. "Innocence breaks so easily… silence not so easily, it seems."

_Darkness wave._

Darkness. Darkness… yes, absorb them. Tsukaimon did not remember how he could, but he felt the shadow creatures fuse into his body. He would not reject them. He would become one with them. One. Yes. One with darkness. The burning subdued into a pleasant warmth. Rejuvination. Energy. A blood-red glow emanated from his body.

_Tsukaimon, digivolve to Devidramon._

Tsukaimon, now Devidramon, nearly rivaled LadyDevimon in height. His nostrils smoked and a deep growl from his throat surprised himself. His formerly childish voice and appearance had become menacing and demonic. For a split second, LadyDevimon, wide-eyed, appeared to step backwards.

_Blue eye!_

A beam of blue energy shot out from Devidramon's four eyes, hitting LadyDevimon and paralysing her. Her face suggested she was trying to break free of her invisible chokehold.

_Crimson nail!_

With a mighty swipe, Devidramon slashed LadyDevimon across the front, tearing her leather bodysuit and the flesh on her chest.

"What are you waiting for, GET HIM!" screamed the demoness.

An army of Bakemon and Evilmon pinned the newly-evolved Devidramon to the ground, so he was nearly as helpless as his former victim. LadyDevimon stood up, attempting to mask the pain from the gash on her chest, and her left hand grew fluid, elongated, and sharpened until it became a gleaming black spear with a blood-red tip.

"Your wish to escape comes with a price," admonished the demoness. "_Darkness spear!_"

Devidramon did not have time to comprehend his situation. There was a flash of black and red. The blade slashed his face, so quickly and abruptly he had no time to realise what had happened until the gash seared his face and his vision clouded with his own blood. He let out a roar of agony, struggling to break free from the vice grip in which the other minions put him.

_Poison!_

Venom infused through the dragon's veins, his own Blue Eye attack acting upon him. His body stung from the inside, numbing him, freezing his limbs, squeezing his lungs. He could not breathe. Blinded. Left for dead. The last thing he heard before his vision blackened was LadyDevimon.

"He is blind now and no longer a threat to us… leave him in the woods. He is the wild digimons' problem now."


	3. The Fall

Footnotes:

I have read that Devidramon only evolves into Cyberdramon, and that Vamdemon only evolves from Devimon or Bakemon, but this was my own personal interpretation. The Tsukaimon-Devidramon-Vamdemon evolution line seems more analogous to his Patamon-Pegasusmon-Azraelmon line.

I don't know if Vamdemon's mask is extraneous to his evolution line, but again I decided to make it analogous to an angel digimon's helmet.

I also took a few liberties with the flashback seen in "The Ultimate Clash"—although you could clearly see Hikari's tag in the glass case, you couldn't necessarily see the crest. (Well, I couldn't, anyway.) An explanation of how Vamdemon already had Hikari's tag and crest in his possession doesn't seem to exist either… hmmmm ;)

An explanation as to how Daemon got out of the Dark Ocean is forthcoming.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two – The Fall<strong>

A fresh wound spanned his face, searing into his flesh and eyes. Devidramon lay on the grass, feeling every blade graze the opened flesh. He growled, unable to writhe the pain away. All he ever felt in this life was physical suffering. His blue eyes opened, his world bleared, and his legs wobbled as he attempted to stand up. His parched throat and empty stomach called out for sustenance. The surge of a stream called out to his ears; the sting of choking smoke and savoury aroma of meat made his mouth water.

Water. Food. Energy.

Devidramon followed the sound, dragging his body along the ground, walking, stumbling, and finally dropping himself onto the bank. The earthy smell of dirt and water life soothed his senses; the cool mud beneath his hide was a welcome break from the sun roasting his black skin. He lapped up the clear liquid life; it relieved him as it poured down his throat to quench his thirst. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and dunked his head beneath the stream, feeling the water caress his wound and wash the blood away.

The smell overpowered him. His stomach growled and squeezed him up to his throat. Meat. Oil. Smoke. As a Dramon, he knew he was blessed with an uncanny sense of smell. Refreshed by the water, he shakily stood up and let his nose guide him to a knoll, upon which stood a rustic, wooden building. This was the source of the enchanting aroma… he pushed the door open and collapsed onto the hardwood floor of the café.

All conversations screeched to a halt; it was not every day restaurant patrons witnessed a small, discoloured Devidramon go out like a light on the doorstep.

"I need food…" the dragon groaned, his starvation overtaking all else.

"Good Goddramon, just what is this?" demanded a nasally voice, as a pair of spiked leafstalks felt Devidramon over. A vine curled around Devidramon's face, turning it upward. He opened his blue eyes to face a wide-mouthed piece of vegetation wearing a leaf headdress. The Vegiemon whacked Devidramon in the direction of the door. "Get yourself out of here; this is a restaurant, not a hospital!"

"I'm starving…" Devidramon repeated, coughing to numb the blow to his side. "Take pity, allow me to have a meal here…"

A gigantic Digitama, whose reptilian legs poked out of his shell, approached the spectacle and kicked the vegetable to the floor. "Vegiemon, you fool," he hissed at his employee, out of earshot of everyone except Devidramon. "You're making us look discriminatory in the face of the paying customers."

Vegiemon picked himself off the floor. "The Devimon are you talking about, Digitamamon? He's not a customer. He is better off in a hospital."

"It doesn't matter if he's as good as dead, a customer is a customer as long as he pays. Do you want to appear ableist to these loyal patrons? Now give this Dramon some food; some dotenabe should fix him right up, and do something about that gash on his face or he'll get blood all over the floor, and who wants to pay to eat at a restaurant with Devidramon blood on the floor?" He kicked the Vegiemon in the direction of the kitchen, in which several others of his kind scurried about. "As for you, my friend, how do you expect to pay for our generous gesture of care?"

"Pay?" Devidramon had no money… money was useless. Why should survival be dependent on how many copper coins or pieces of paper one owned? This was pseudo-power at best, brought about by poor progress down the evolutionary chain. What sort of fool spent his life obtaining inanimate objects? They would literally get eaten alive in time. This Digitamamon was no different than Piemon and his obsession with collecting these "trinkets." Both were stooping to the level of these "humans"… but it seemed that Devidramon would also need to violate his principles.

"Yes, pay, did your ears also get mangled in whatever freak accident you were in? Got any money?"

"I have no money."

"No money?" scoffed the oversized eggshell. "You can't get something for nothing, you know…" He paced around. "You damn Dramon types, mooching off the land like parasites and expecting the same treatment from your fellow digimon."

Devidramon lowered his head.

Digitamamon's yellow eyes lit up. "You seem like someone who would specialise in heavy lifting, Devidramon. Even if your type is stubborn about money, we could always benefit from the free labour… you may stay here, on one condition. You must assist in the kitchens." It was almost as if Devidramon could read the unhatched lizard's mind at that moment. _A token Dramon in our employment-one with a genetic mutation at that!-would make those politically-correct patrons shit themselves with happiness…_ "Now come here, you're dripping blood and pus all over the foyer."

Devidramon stumbled towards the kitchen, where he was met with a comforting surfeit of miso and oysters, savoury vegetables that felt so thick and filling as they poured down his throat, and a nip of sake that warmed him from the inside out. A fresh bandage was wrapped around his eyes, blinding him once again, but he would manage. He felt so full of energy and refreshed, and would someday heal and be on his way. Freeing himself from the shackles of servitude for his maladjusted brother was the consequence of his rebellion, and the injury was a mere hiccup. Soon he would be on his own, and his world would be fully _his_ again.

For days, possibly weeks, Devidramon's world consisted of physical labour of the grossest motor skills, scrubbing floors with a soapy brush shoved in his mouth, lifting crates of vegetables, and lifting the tables and chairs as the others cleaned the floor. Digitamamon seemed to believe that Devidramon was incapable of fine motor work, especially in his bandaged state, thus the only tasks he was allowed to complete were ones done after hours and guaranteed aching joints and blisters. Some days, Devidramon wanted nothing more than to lower himself into a hot spring for an eternity… but in return for his labour, he was paid in table scraps and crude medical care for his gash. He felt his energy returning; every day was a step closer to freedom.

With his eyes bandaged, a greater price was paid—his world was cloaked in darkness, and he could no longer distinguish between sleep and a waking state. Some days he heard Vegiemon and Digitamamon shouting impossible orders, and he set off to complete them, only to discover that he lay on the floor the full time. He seemed stranded in a perpetual dark mist, where the line between dreams and reality blurred.

_All through the night-time my lonely heart is singing  
>Sweeter songs of love than the brown bird ever knew.<em>

In the middle of this caliginosity, his mind enjoyed playing tricks on him. Some days or nights, in either state, he heard strains of Nefertimon's voice amongst the other customers. Was it her? Was she still at the Armour state, or had she evolved further? All was lost but pain. Although some days his eyes throbbed, his shattered heart faded anything physical. He felt as if he had lost everything except the grain of hope that she would soon arrive. It would all be well again, this life would turn out to be nothing but a dream. Some days, he even dared to call out to her, in hopes that she would step through the doors and bring him back to his world, but he was met with nothing or an order to get back to work.

The Vegiemons with whom he worked scoffed at his delusions. "I've been in and out of those doors for as long as I can remember, and no Nefertimon has ever walked through these doors and ordered a meal." "How would she know you work here? How would she even know who you are?" "This world is vast; Server Continent is not the only place she could have gone. Expecting her to walk in here is less likely than finding a needle in a haystack." "If she really loved you, she would have invited you to join her rather than fly off in the dead of night. Those eyes were filled with lies." "Dreams only exist for the _stupid_, Devidramon. Give up yours."

* * *

><p>The wound spanning Devidramon's eyes had healed; the bandage was peeled off his face to expose the dragon's flesh to the air. How refreshing it felt… he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. His body, black as ebony, struck a dignified, upright pose as he held his head up high. He spanned his wings—night-black on the outside, blood-red on the inside. The vermilion evening sky accentuated his undead appearance. Never had he seen himself in this form before. He stepped up to the mirror to examine his face. His ice-blue eyes stood out starkly against the black hide, and a crimson scar spanned across them. He wondered if he would remain horribly disfigured for an eternity once time became less forgiving.<p>

"You may stay one more night, but you must leave us in the morning," admonished Digitamamon.

Although Devidramon would have rather left that evening, he would not decline a free meal. A gentle rapping at the door interrupted any other exchange between the two digimon. Digitamamon groused about people not paying attention to signs and waddled into the seating area, shutting the door behind him. Through the crack, Devidramon could hear the conversation.

"Can't you read the sign? We're closed."

"I'm not here to eat," said the second voice, a placid, dark whisper that seemed to suck the life out of its surroundings. Hearing it caused Devidramon's heart to lurch into his throat and sent a shiver down his spine. The door opened, and the lights seemed to dim as the being entered. "I wish to know if you have seen a Tsukaimon."

"I see a lot of Tsukaimons and Patamons. What's it to you?"

"Do not mouth off to me; you do not know with whom you are dealing. I am your elder and a much more powerful being than you, thus you are to address me as such. For now, you will address me as "sir" or "master." This Tsukaimon is special… immortal due to unknown causes. Perhaps it is due to a deviation in his data code, which explains his discolouration. This one is dark blue, but with blue eyes and a red top."

Devidramon remembered the image of himself in the mirror.

"With all due respect... er, _sir_, I have honestly never seen a Tsukaimon like that. They all look the same to me."

"Perhaps you have seen another form of him, digivolved or de-digivolved… a Tokomon, or a Bakemon or Devidramon."

Devidramon knew he was being pursued and decided to abscond before he would get caught. It was becoming more evident that he was immortal—how else could he withstand a desert storm and flesh wounds and absorb his assailants' attacks? He found the window by the crates and struggled to unlatch it. However, due to the limited hand dexterity of Dramon types, his attempt proved to be in vain.

The door to the kitchen opened.

Devidramon whirled around and gave a defensive stance, his legs spread apart, head low, growling at whatever would enter. If he would enter servitude again, he would not do so without a fight.

In floated a figure cloaked in red sorcerers' robes, with nothing visible below his mantle but a pair of golden eyes. A pair of violet wings sprouted from his back; two ivory horns from his head. Though his feet were visible, he did not appear to walk, but glide, and the orb around his neck collected sparks of light from its surroundings. The moment the figure entered, the lights dimmed, and feelings of emptiness, despair, everything indescribable bubbled up from Devidramon's inner thoughts.

"Exactly the one for whom I have searched," mused the figure. "You have been most cooperative, Digitamamon, and your eatery shall be spared. You are dismissed; I must speak with the immortal one alone."

The door seemed to shut out of its own volition, trapping Devidramon within the same room as the spirit confronting him. The spirit did not show any signs of emotion, unlike Piemon and LadyDevimon who could both be extremely volatile and predictable in their reactions. The cloaked figure sat on a crate of potatoes and folded his hands in his lap.

"There is no need to try to escape, Devidramon," said the figure. "I am not going to hurt you. On the contrary; I am here to help you realise your full potential."

Questions rushed through Devidramon's mind, each pushing the rest out of the way and giving way to more. Who or what was he? Where was he from? How did he knew where he was? His immortality? What did he want with him? Help him? Why should he trust him? Was this all still a dream?

The voice, which seemed to penetrate directly through to the dragon's mind, ran a chill through him. "My, you are so full of questions. Your intelligence is far beyond that of others of your kind, who are only capable of grunting and eating and shitting all day. I will tell you what I want with you—it is nothing more than to help you. I can sense your appetite; your shame and self-pity; the seeds of pride and self-respect that have been left to wither thanks to such unfortunate circumstances. Working in a restaurant is too low for such a noble breed, one of a kind, Devidramon like yourself. You possess grandeur and power that will help you rise high above the others. Allow me to let you feed upon my darkness and release the power and strength you never knew hid within your inner sanctum, and show you your true worth. There is a price; you are to assist me in return."

Such words seemed to spin Devidramon's head upon his neck; this creature's twisted tongue contorted the dragon's logical mind and mistrust into knots. Although he seemed to salivate at the thought of becoming such a near-godly being as described, the proviso sounded less than appealing. Servitude? His life seemed to be one continuous string of servitude.

"What makes you different from Piemon or Digitamamon?" demanded Devidramon. "Why should I serve you, or even trust you, when you have not even told me your name?"

The cloaked figure stood up, revealing that the potatoes in the crate were in varied states of decay. "Pardon my lack of manners, Devidramon. I am Daemon; I hail from an ocean where fear and suffering come to die. I can read your darkness, your despair, your deepest desire to complete yourself again. There is no reason to fear me; I am not here to hurt you. I understand that you have a reservation against servitude, and your reasons are legitimate… but I am different from your other two masters. Unlike them, I will not force you into servitude. You can choose to complete a simple task for me. In return I will pay you what you are truly worth. Do not even call me a master; I am your companion. Consider me your equal."

Daemon floated in front of Devidramon and gazed directly into his eyes. The dragon shuddered.

"I can see such determination and tenacity in your eyes, and a broken spirit… clearly, your masters have discouraged you from reaching your true state. They both sensed a threat in you and attempted to beat you into submission. I shall not do that… I shall repay you in full for your task. It is your choice to complete it... if you do not wish to complete the task and yourself, that is understandable." He turned to exit the room.

"Wait."

Daemon turned around.

"What might the task be?"

"It pertains to Lord Piemon, the one who is rumoured to hide beneath the amusement park near this diner. That clown has been hoarding something that is rightfully mine… perhaps he has discussed special tags and crests in your presence, or has been training you in preparation for collecting them. I assure you, I am more worthy of holding them in my possession than he is. There is a force behind these tags and crests, eight forces, that must be subdued lest digimon like us cannot reach the grandeur and power we were destined to obtain. You and I were destined for great things… yet the power from humans will be harnessed through these crests to destroy digimon like us. Can you imagine?"

Devidramon lapped this up. Humans were primitive, and he could clearly rise above them.

"My one and only task for you is to give me the tags and crests. Whatever measures you must take, even if it means destroying the one who calls you 'brother', are fully justified. Blood is not thicker than water; he may have seen you as his equal, but Piemon was destroying you. Had you not escaped, my child, your potential would have remained locked away within you forever and left to die."

Daemon enveloped Devidramon and himself inside his wings, and within seconds they found themselves in a new environment… a castle. Stone-walled, emanating an emerald-green glow, supported by Gothic arches, a place of dizzying dimensions. The floor and walls possessed such a sheen that the dragon could see his reflection cast on the crystal plating. The ceiling seemed to disappear into darkness.

"To prove I am here to help you, you must feed upon my energy. My powers are yours, as is everything you and I shall partake in. If you desire land, I shall give you land… food, drink, females, it shall be yours. All I require of you are the tags and crests, and your fealty until such items are in my possession. Then you are free to go." He held out his hands, upon which rested a ball of dark energy, shooting crimson sparks and sucking out all of the light out of the surroundings. "This will not hurt you, Devidramon. You are able to absorb the energy from others and revive it as your own dark powers."

Devidramon wondered what would become of him if he allowed himself to be hit by that unholy light. The worst that could happen is permanent disfigurement… he could not die. It would not kill him. If Daemon was a truthteller, his powers would be amplified to their full potential, and life itself would not be cursed or unfulfilled.

"What say you, Devidramon? Shall you carry out my orders?"

"I will."

He was not afraid.

_Evil flapping._

The blast of dark energy fused directly through Devidramon's body from head to tail, filling him with a rejuvenating warmth. He could feel his powers growing, and this stage could no longer contain such a large amount of energy. A blood-red glow enveloped Devidramon, searing hot and filled with the screeching of a thousand bats. The dragon's body glowed the same shade, writhing and contorting to fit its new form. Black bats flew out of his body, born of his own data, as the dragon stood upright and shrunk to human form. His wings broke off and transformed into a velvet cape; black outside and crimson within as his wings had been in previous forms. His blue eyes pierced the crimson glow.

The awakening of darkness. His dark wishes and hate unleashed, soon to paint his path with scarlet stain.

_Devidramon, digivolve to Vamdemon._

Devidramon, now Vamdemon, stood at eye level with Daemon. He noticed he could no longer cast a reflection in the polished surfaces of the castle's architecture. The bats, born of his own data, nested in the arches, adding an ominous squeak and flapping of wings to the deathly silence of the castle interior. Daemon looked the Perfect digimon up and down with great approval in his eyes.

"Look at yourself, Devidramon… your thirst for power shall be slaked. A young noble such as yourself should strike fear into the hearts of all who see you. You are a prince of blood and fear. The undead will bow to you as their king."

As if such power had been inborn, the former Devidramon conjured a crimson, misty orb out of thin air, which expanded to the Perfect's height and allowed him to examine himself. Vamdemon cast the first glance at himself since his days as Devidramon, and for a split second he could not recognise himself. His countenance was regal, intimidating, authoritative; he had the well-chiselled face of a fallen angel, framed with blonde hair, pierced by his ice-blue eyes, and half-hidden by a crimson mask. He wore a blue general's suit bedizen with gold, and his cape echoed the shades of the skin of his previous stages. He stood upright, tall and exceedingly slender, emanating a wiry strength. Power surged through his veins, yet he hungered for more.

He removed the mask, whose colour made his blue eyes more striking, to see the scar the spanned between his eyes. It would be recognised by LadyDevimon, sight unseen… the Vegiemon and Digitamamon did not pose a threat. Perhaps it would be safer if he wore it. Placing the mask back on his face, his sense of security returned. To anyone else, he would be any given Undead Digimon, not the Tsukaimon who was intoxicated and whipped into servitude nor the Devidramon who had slaved away in a diner. To the rest of the world, possibly even to himself, he was Vamdemon, and only Vamdemon.

"Go, Vamdemon." Daemon motioned down a long hallway. "My power is within you, now find the crests and bring them to me, a simple task, and I shall grant you all of your wildest desires. I trust you to complete your side of the bargain."

With a swish of his cape, the vampire ventured off in the direction specified by the demon. As he drew down the hallway, he whiffed a trace of a succulent aroma, more tantalising than anything he had ever smelled before, even more so than the food at the restaurant when he first stumbled upon it. This enchanting odour smelled different—rich, metallic, akin to the chamber after a fresh whipping—

Blood.

As if by instinct alone, Vamdemon flew down the hallway, piqued by the source of the blood. It must be at the heart of the castle. A set of metal doors masked the blood-scent, which strengthened to the point that his fangs elongated and pricked the skin beneath his lower lip. Like a ghost, he phased through the doors and entered a capacious stone chamber packed with machinery. Upon his entry, an overhead lantern blew out like a candle. At the back of the chamber, protected by a glass wall, eight digitamas rested alongside a small shiny object apiece—the tags and crests, perhaps? Humans, or at least creatures resembling humans, milled around like insects. The scent of blood rushing through their veins overpowered the vampire.

"Halt! Who goes there?" One of the humans, a brown-haired male with strong facial features, reached into his white robe and pulled out a weapon—a gun, which he promptly aimed at the vampire.

"I shall ask the questions around here, human," said Vamdemon. A whip of electrified blood spurted from his hands and knocked the gun out of the man's hands, followed by a dissonant clang of a bullet hitting a machine, right by a wheel. Steam erupted from the hole where the bullet struck, followed by the discordant sparking of electricity. Vamdemon was pleased to see the humans in the vicinity running to spare themselves; he casually picked up the gun and pointed it at the humans in the room. "Bring your tags and crests to me without fail and all of you shall be spared."

"Are you one of Piemon's henchmen?" interrogated another human—a female one, similar in appearance to the male. "We know how to deal with intruders."

"Piemon?" scoffed the vampire, trying not to descend into a fit of rage hearing that name. "That incompetent court jester is unworthy of possessing these crests. I would never disgrace myself by entering his servitude. Now will you bring me the crests or will I need to take matters into my own hands?"

The humans answered by pulling out their own guns and aiming them at the vampire.

Although he was outnumbered, he remembered there were hundreds of henchmen in his possession, born from his own data. "_Night raid!_" A dark cloud of bats gushed out from beneath his cape, filling the chamber with the echoes of ominous screeching. Some of the humans dropped their guns; others shot at the bats, yet with every bullet fired, more bats seemed to appear, dragging the weapon out of each human's hand and nipping at the flesh if he or she were too stubborn.

When he was certain that the entourage of humans had been subdued, as the bats still fluttered in the air and gripped the humans' guns, Vamdemon held out his whip of electrified blood, which gave the room an ominous crimson glow.

He would not make the same mistake Piemon and LadyDevimon had made. In previous stages, Vamdemon could read their emotions like a book. He would not appear vulnerable and barefaced as they had.

"Now, humans," he said in a neutral tone, masking his anger and tension, "I was informed that you have eight tags and crests in my possession. You are to allow me to have my choice of them, and in return I shall spare all of your lives." He was pleased to see that the humans stood thunderstruck in his presence, faces agape and every fibre of their bodies trembling. "_Dead scream!_" A black spirit whisked out from underneath his cape, consuming every human it touched and drained the colours from their bodies until they were completely monochrome. Each human, completely paralysed, dropped to the ground as the spectre enveloped them. The spirit returned to its owner, who absorbed the energy from each human's fears and mistrust.

Humans certainly were primitive, Vamdemon thought as he approached the glass case containing his desired treasures. So simple-minded, without any defense mechanisms… and the few they have invented could never compare to the digital creatures who inhabited this world alongside them. They all could benefit from a wake-up call that they are not as omnipotent as their demented minds fashioned themselves.

On a glass shelf inside the case stood a row of eight Digitamas, displayed like merchandise in a store. In front of each egg rested an oddly-shaped pendant and translucent slide; a coloured symbol was printed on each slide. With his blood-whip, Vamdemon sliced a circular hole in the side of the glass casing, gently setting the glass at his feet. He examined the selection before him, still perched upon their shelf, and pondered how many to take with him.

Returning all of them to Daemon guaranteed his freedom… still, it was unclear as to what purpose Daemon had fashioned for them. Vamdemon decided he would prefer to remain with the demon digimon for longer, in case an ulterior motive existed for the latter's actions. He slid the crest out of the tag attached to the pink egg and examined it. It was translucent, barely noticeable in its vessel save for the pink sun symbol printed on it. It was miniscule enough to go unnoticed if Piemon were to invade this castle and swipe the tags. He knew that such an avid collector may fly the white flag and pursue another interest if the entire collection were possessed by another, but the absence of only one trinket would drive him to the brink of insanity. Vamdemon had witnessed this many times in his Tsukaimon stage, usually resulting in himself or the nearest Bakemon, even LadyDevimon, beat senseless.

Yes.

With a chuckle, the vampire pocketed the crest, imagining the look on that joker's face upon discovering that one of the crests had gone missing. There were myriad things he could exchange for the crest… any collector would trade anything to complete a set. He set the missing glass piece back into its hole and gently sealed it, warming and moulding the glass with his electrified blood.

The metallic odour of blood still sat heavily in the air. Vamdemon felt his fangs protrude and puncture his own skin once more, knowing he had a plentiful source of fresh blood lying on the floor.

He promised he would leave the humans alive. He said nothing about what he was capable of doing to them, and every digimon had the right to a good meal…

One of the females of the human species lay limp on the ground, still in her greyed state. Vamdemon pushed her hair aside, exposing her neck, imagining how many blood vessels were sheathed by the skin. His bats screeched and fluttered around at the ceiling, echoing his arousal. He plunged his fangs into her jugular vein and drained the warm, coppery liquid out of the fresh wounds. Nothing that poured down his throat had ever been so savoury or rejuvenating… Once he drank his fill, enough to keep her alive, he dropped the woman to the stone floor and took his leave. He had greater priorities to fulfill.


	4. The Awakening of Darkness

Is anyone even reading this? I suppose not, so I'm basically writing for myself here. This one has been written for well over a month as I was hoping someone would show any semblance of interest before I continued posting. Med school is kicking my butt so I suppose it's a good thing that there's no pressure in the online writing community. Onward!

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><p>Chapter Three – Darkness Awakened<p>

As promptly as he retrieved the crests, Vamdemon absconded to one of the castle's towers and waited. He knew that Piemon's army was due to strike at any given moment, and he desired nothing more than to see the harlequin perform like a trick Garurumon for the missing crest. He clutched the object in his hand, contemplating its importance to Daemon.

"Vamdemon." The hooded spectre materialised behind the vampire, who turned around to acknowledge his presence.

"Daemon." Vamdemon bowed his blonde head, showing no intimidation toward his so-called equal.

"Have you found the crests?"

"Although I have found where the crests are kept," explained the vampire, "I would much rather obtain them from Piemon himself." He tightened his grip on the one crest in his possession. "You see, these humans are primitive and stubborn beings who would rather take their secrets to the grave than disclose them. They probably have no knowledge of these items' true power. Learning Piemon's intentions for these crests would be of so much more use to us." He bared his fangs in a slight grin. "I doubt you would want to see him and LadyDevimon alive and on the warpath, when there are so many other obstacles in our way."

Daemon grunted; not even his cloak concealing his countenance could hide the fact that he was displeased. "I trust you to make the right decision, Vamdemon. Humans are expendable and more easy to dispose of than an Ultimate, especially as you are only at a Perfect level."

"Level does not always denote power," contested Vamdemon. "Piemon may be an Ultimate and I a Perfect, but his ego and temerity are the size of Infinity Mountain, thus he easily lets his guard down. Get enough cocktails into him and he is more feeble than a human. Need I remind you that LadyDevimon is not only a Perfect, but female. Her lust extends beyond that for power, and her sex can be quite daft when promised with carnal delights of the male form. I know how to deal with those two and acquire useful information for you. If either he or LadyDevimon try to harm me, it will all be in vain. You cannot kill the undead."

Soon the army would arrive and seize the crests. Vamdemon stared into the horizon, waiting for any semblance of the army of which he had once been a part. By now, the humans must be awakening from their slumber and toiling away to restore that computer laboratory to its original state. The blue twilight bled between the clouds that blanketed the sky. Strains of song echoed in the wind, uncovering what he had buried deeper within himself when attaining this form. "_All through the night-time my lonely heart is singing… …to you…"_

A collective clanking, like clockwork, emerged from the silence. All steps, synchronised as one voice, began as an echo, but as they drew closer, the short they percussed became more distinct and ominous. The moonlight glinted off the rows of machines drawing towards the castle. The sound was unmistakable to Vamdemon, who had listened to it during his daily training regimen. The troops had arrived to storm the castle.

A sinister grin crossed Vamdemon's face as he imagined how Piemon would react to the final crest missing, but he knew he could not stay close to witness. Once the castle walls had been penetrated by the Mekanorimons' bullets and the robotic army disappeared inside, the vampire flew off in the direction of the place he once called home.

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><p>"SEVEN?" The doors to the main chamber opened to reveal Piemon, furious from his failed mission, clutching the other seven crests in one hand, while his other hand was raised after striking a cowering ghost. He turned to several of the Bakemon who followed him in, obviously the ones who piloted the Mekanorimon. "Which one of you was the pinheaded buffoon who let it slide out of its casing?" The harlequin glared at one of the ghosts whose eyes and mouth trembled in trepidation. "It was you, wasn't it…"<p>

"It wasn't me, my lord, honest!" the arbitrarily-chosen ghost pleaded. "How could I when you were holding the tags the entire time?"

"I have no tolerance for liars. _Trump swords!_"

Without another whimper out of him, the spectre and his ragged sheet were sliced to pieces by the quartet of swords. Piemon slid the swords into the sheath on his back and turned to the army. "Now, I need a volunteer from the audience to—"

"Lord Piemon, someone is here," LadyDevimon informed her master, pointing towards a hovering figure obscured in shadow.

The harlequin glared at the intruder and brandished one of his swords. "Who goes there? How dare you trespass on our private arena?" Like a fencer, he pointed the sword at the intruder.

Vamdemon floated down from his vantage point and gave the entourage a dark chuckle. "That is no way to speak to your _guest_," he informed them, "especially when he has something you are looking for." He let a crimson orb roll out of his hand and expand, revealing an image of the eighth crest, which unbeknownst to the others was nestled safely in a pocket. With another wave of the vampire's hand, the image disappeared. "I advise you sheath that sword, _Piemon_," he added, spitting out the name as if it were venom. "Violence may be your _modus operandi _in problem solving, but it will only circumvent you in locating that last crest. Only I know where it is, and if you drive that sword through my heart that knowledge will be gone… and you may never complete your collection."

A silent pause filled the arena, and Piemon slowly sheathed his sword.

LadyDevimon stepped forward. "Who are you? How did you know Lord Piemon resides here?"

"I will ask the questions around here, LadyDevimon." Vamdemon's blue eyes glared at the demoness from behind his crimson mask. "If you prove yourselves worthy, I will humour your request to know why I am here. Right now there is a business deal that is due to be made; I am sure that you both have an eye for a bargain…"

LadyDevimon could not pry her gaze from Vamdemon's eyes, reading them as if she were attempting to decipher a foreign text.

"A splendid idea," said Piemon, handing the eight tags to LadyDevimon. "This matter ought to be discussed over dinner. LadyDevimon, would you care to—"

"There is no reason for her to join us," Vamdemon pointed out. "This is a business deal between two parties; she will only convolute things."

It seemed that evolving to a Perfect form had altered the vampire's taste for food. He picked at the courses placed before him, repulsed by what he had zealously devoured in his Tsukaimon stage. The food seemed almost alien to him; how could anyone consider it sustenance? The meat was nothing but stringy filler; all of the blood had been drained and replaced by a transfusion of sauces. There was little energy in these plants roasted and served on the side! His system was certain to reject it later, Vamdemon thought. Had the wine addled his taste buds as well as his judgement?

In spite of his distaste for food, the wine did not go to his head so easily. Although he was several times larger than his Child form, thus with a greater volume of blood and a smaller likelihood of complete inebriation, Vamdemon knew to tread cautiously. The vampire nursed his own glass in between pushing the food around his plate and keeping his mouth busy in a manner that did not involve food consumption.

"I trust you are someone who places tremendous importance on his servants, Piemon," said Vamdemon.

"_Lord_ Piemon," the harlequin corrected him, slurring his words and sloshing the contents of his fourth cocktail glass onto the table.

"You do not rule over my territory, thus I am not under obligation to address you as 'Lord,'" Vamdemon pointed out. "I also happen to be a 'Lord' myself; that makes you and me equals, would it not?" he took a tentative sip of wine and swirled the contents of his glass, witnessing Piemon grow as stewed as a prune on his own liquor. "But I digress… I understand how many servants whose lives were risked to obtain these tags and crests. Clearly you might have a special servant you may be willing to trade for the missing crest. Your LadyDevimon is quite a piece of work and I could put her to good use…"

Piemon furrowed his brow. "LadyDevimon is not for sale, good sir!" he contested. "She provides certain _services _that none of my other servants can perform."

"Pity." Vamdemon swirled the contents of his chalice and thoughtfully sipped them again. "Then by all means, keep her; I would rather not play with a used toy. Perhaps you have another servant who could prove himself useful on the battlefield."

Piemon drained the contents of his glass and banged a fist on the table, muttering a name under his breath.

Vamdemon narrowed his eyes. "Beg pardon? I did not quite catch that."

"Tsukaimon," the harlequin replied in a voice laced with venom. "That sneaky little bastard was plotting escape, so LadyDevimon had to deal with him. A tragedy, but rightfully so… the villain always receives his comeuppance."

"Of what importance was this Tsukaimon to you? They are useless servants in my opinion… loyal messengers, but in battle they are about as useful as dirt."

"A brilliant character analysis, my friend, but this one was different… although his loyalty was questionable, he had powers within him… sorcery, as my lady and servants attested to, he evolved when she struck him! …Oh my, it seems the wine is going right to my head…. It could have been used to our advantage. He could have brought back those eight crests himself! And those Harmonious Ones who were after the _spoils_… we could have found a way for him to deal with _them_. My creator would give anything to see them sealed behind the wall of fire_._" The tone of the harlequin's voice suddenly switched from anger to amusement. "But no… even drinking him into a stupor could not make him loyal… so LadyDevimon had to kill him." A lighthearted chuckle flourished at the end of the story. "I would have much rather turned him into a keychain and kept him for amusement, but my mistress has always had a fondness for carnage."

Killed him? It seemed that LadyDevimon was the mistress of the twisted tongue which she proved to be quite deft in the bedroom, Vamdemon thought as he stood up from the table.

Piemon followed his lead, although he swayed and stumbled doing so.

Vamdemon handed Piemon the crest; the later pocketed it greedily and gave a hearty chuckle.

"Providing a crest for _free?_" the Ultimate scoffed. "Not much of a businessmon, are you?"

"Why would I provide anything for nothing?" contested the Perfect. "That would hardly be a fair trade. You have already given me more than enough in exchange for this crest, and I assure you, I will make restitution for everything you have provided for me."

Piemon gave a cackle and clutched the crest in his fist. "Enough _words?_ How could the story of Tsukaimon be of use to you? I thank you for helping me complete my collection."

Vamdemon bared his fangs in a slight smirk. "I trust you are not going to let go of that crest now that it is in your possession."

"Absolutely not."

"And anyone who wants it would need to pry it out of your cold, dead hands."

"You are a smart one. Perhaps with practice, you could start deciphering children's puppet shows." The harlequin headed for the door, yet the vampire continued to smirk and block his path. "What is amusing you? I always love a good jest."

"I just realised I never told you my name," said Vamdemon, rolling a heated crimson orb in his right hand. "I am surprised that you failed to identify me already… and that LadyDevimon never told you that your Tsukaimon was immortal."

"HA! Immortal? Perhaps you are the one who had a bit too much to drink… LadyDevimon killed him."

"No, she did not. Your servant could not be subdued by your so-called nectar; his destiny was to be the cause of your downfall. He evolved to his true form, Lord Vamdemon." He paused, allowing Piemon a few seconds to process it in his intoxicated state. He whispered, "_Bloody stream…_"

A whip of electrified blood rolled out from the orb in Vamdemon's hand. A crimson light drenched the room. When it subsided, Piemon lay on the floor and Vamdemon stood above him. The vampire decided he would not make a good meal; alcohol-laced blood wrapped in a layer of grease paint was less appetizing than food for the living.

"You were right, Piemon," said the vampire as he pried the crest out of his former master's cold, unconscious hands. "I am not much of a businessmon. _Night raid!_"

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><p>LadyDevimon, waiting in the crystalline blue hallway, noticed the hall grow dim and felt a wave of cold wash over her. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she turned her head around and jumped backwards. She leaned against the wall and clasped her hand to her heaving chest. "You startled me," she said. "Where is Lord Piemon?"<p>

"He has retired early to his chambers," Vamdemon responded, not skipping a beat. "Why are you still out? A lady should not be wandering alone at night."

"Such an archaic belief," scoffed the demoness, who had gathered her wits. She gently brushed her stray hair over her shoulder and traipsed down the hall. "I can take care of myself. I'm not a weakling." She glanced at the vampire, who appeared to be clutching an object in his hand. "What is that?"

Vamdemon held out his hand to produce the crest, then promptly pocketed it. "I am afraid we have not yet reached a business deal yet. Nothing he had to offer was of enough worth to him or myself, and the one thing I felt was substantial enough…" he diverted his gaze upon LadyDevimon, seeing her stifle a shiver, "…he was unwilling to sell." He took LadyDevimon's hand and gently caressed it. He leaned up to her so barely a sliver of light passed between the two, and gazed into her eyes.

LadyDevimon stared at the ground and furrowed her brow, as if to block the vampire from her line of sight. For once, she did not speak.

Vamdemon lifted her chin up with his hand and turned her head towards his, so their eyes stared into one another. "Perhaps I could help you reap some of the benefits of being in my possession," he suggested.

The demoness huffed and pushed the vampire away, breaking free of his grip. "I refuse to be passed around and traded like a piece of currency!"

To calm her down Vamdemon once again stood in front of LadyDevimon and took her hands in his own, running his thumbs across the palms. "I understand that, dear," he said as placidly as possible. "That is why I trust you to make the ultimate decision of who you wish to choose as your mate. I know what you will say, my pet, 'I belong to Lord Piemon', but have you ever seen the world outside of him? Only knowing one meal, no matter how bland and tasteless or revolting it may be, is not healthy for a beautiful young womon like yourself. You deserve to sample all of the delights we male forms have to offer…" He let go of one of her hands and let his free hand run down her cheek.

LadyDevimon leaned into his caress, then quickly pulled away. "I made an oath to Lord Piemon. I am his, and only his, not forsaking him for another lest I suffer the consequences."

Vamdemon drew himself towards the demoness, allowing his lips to gently brush her own. "What do you have to fear?" he whispered. "I thought the last thing a devil would possess is ethics."

"But what if he catches us?" LadyDevimon's alabaster face flushed.

"Never underestimate the potency of wine, girl… he is resting in peace at this very moment. Now lead me to your chamber." He gently caught LadyDevimon's lips in a soft kiss, brushing his tongue across the surface to taste the salty sweat.

LadyDevimon glanced over her shoulder, then escorted the vampire to her bedchamber. The décor was austere and bathed in blacks and dark reds, and the bed in the centre served as the room's crown jewel. Three pale flames appeared in the single candelabra on a table beside the bed, bathing the room in an eerie glow. She removed her mask and cape, letting them drop to the floor, thus revealing her bare face and shoulders. It seemed like ritual to her; her movement was fluid like a dancer's. Approaching the bed, she disrobed each article of clothing as if to leave a trail, until only her leather bodysuit remained. There was a pause as she reached below the collar and pulled several objects out of her cleavage.

"I will keep those safe," said Vamdemon. He grabbed the tags and crests, noticing how they glinted in the candlelight, and promptly pocketed them.

By then, LadyDevimon had peeled her leather suit off and lay bare atop the velvet sheets. She tilted her head back and sprawled out, as if serving herself as a main course. Vamdemon could barely prevent the blood from draining from his head seeing such an exquisite female form. The candlelight only softened her ivory skin and hair and every curve and hollow of her hourglass figure. He felt his trousers tighten as he gazed upon her breasts. As if guided by primal instinct, he promptly tore off all of his clothing down to his belts and stormed her innermost sanctum.

The allure of the female form had never been a mystery to Vamdemon, though in his new form he became acquainted with it in full. In previous stages these parts were foreign to him, unheard of, yet the females of his species possessed some intangible quality he found irresistible.

In the throes of carnal passion, no concept of time existed, and all acts were purely instinctual. He suckled at her neck, spelling indecipherable phrases across the skin with his tongue just to taste the salty sweat. Beads of perspiration rolled down his back, across her chest, gathering at the pink buds on her bosom. He felt a spark running his tongue across LadyDevimon's chest, gently lingering in the centre of each breast. Soon the tightness in Vamdemon's trousers overwhelmed him; he unbuckled his belts and released all inhibitions. He thrust into her, driving his pelvis into hers. She arched her back and dug her nails into his. Her staggered breathing turned into primal moans and screams; how easily females could be subdued by the sheer power of a monhood.

If blood was nectar to Vamdemon, screams were truly ambrosia.

Passion. Lust. They were each other's sin.

Vamdemon slid out of her and redid his trousers and belts, letting the blood return to the rest of him. "My pet," he whispered, "do you truly wish to receive baptism into darkness? You deserve to be more than a servant." He caressed the side of her face, brushing the sweat-drenched hair away from her neck. "Your rightful title ought to be Queen of the Undead."

LadyDevimon closed her eyes and moaned, savouring the thought of such a title.

"I am Lord Vamdemon, King of the Undead," said the vampire, finally revealing his name to her. "And I have been yearning for my Queen for so long." He brushed his lips against LadyDevimon's. "Would you be my Queen?"

"Oh yes…" gasped LadyDevimon. Her bare bosom still heaving with bated breath, she tilted her head to the side, exposing her pale, slender neck. Her veins had dilated; her heart pounded at its full capacity.

Never had a neck been so irresistible to Vamdemon… his vampire nature began to vanquish his male urges, beating them senseless. In this state his instinct was primal; all he knew was blood. He planted a row of kisses down her neck, sucking at the skin and pleased with himself seeing red marks appear where his mouth had been. He plunged his fangs into her jugular vein, piercing the silky skin and feeling the blood gush into his mouth and trickle down his throat. He continued to suck at the wounds, running his tongue across the raw flesh.

LadyDevimon let out a muffled scream as the twin blades stung her neck, and tried to push him off. With every heartbeat a new wave of her salty nectar flowed from the puncture wounds. Soon her vision tumbled and spun before her. Her breaths shallowed. Her weighty arms fell back onto the bed. She could not lift her head; she lay lifelessly against her pillow like a rag doll. A scarlet stain flowed freely from her neck and drenched her hair, standing out starkly against the white.

Vamdemon, content with his meal, drew away from his victim and wiped the blood away from his mouth. "Your veins run with the sweetest nectar, my pet…"

LadyDevimon's heavy eyes could not mask her trepidation. "Why did you hurt me?" she gasped.

"It is my nature," replied the vampire. "I enjoyed tonight's feast." He brushed the strands of hair, drenched with sweat and blood, off of LadyDevimon's neck.

"Lord Piemon shall know of this," winced LadyDevimon, "and he will hunt you down and have your head. I killed the last traitor who defied him."

Vamdemon bared a blood-stained grin. "Did you even fool yourself into believing you killed Tsukaimon?" He then pushed LadyDevimon against the bed and grabbed her throat, wrapping his fingers around it so tightly he could feel her struggling to breathe. He stared into her eyes, ice-blue meeting blood-red. "If your so-called _Lord_ Piemon had been more tactful in his treatment of your immortal Tsukaimon, the success of his endeavours would have multiplied one hundredfold. Respect must be _earned_, LadyDevimon, not forced through drinking someone blind. His greatest flaw was his excessive pride and effrontery, which overshadowed his resourcefulness. He grew cocky and threw lavish dinners, celebrating before the time was appropriate. Imbibing so much alcohol loosened his tongue and rendered him vulnerable to attack. Piemon let his guard down." Vamdemon leaned closer to the demoness, gently letting his lips graze her own. "That is why Tsukaimon turned on his so-called masters, Piemon failed in his mission, and he is dead now…" he whispered.

LadyDevimon silently mouthed "No…"

Vamdemon tightened his grip around LadyDevimon's neck, watching her mouth and eyes tremble. "And that is why the blue-eyed servant he _and _his concubine muddled into oblivion is the one who did them in." He stared into her eyes again, not allowing her to break the gaze.

With his free hand, still enclosing LadyDevimon in his full-bodied grip, Vamdemon removed his mask and shook the stray strands of hair out of his face to reveal the scar that spanned his face. The demoness's eyes widened as she finally realised the identity of her seductive captor.

_Night raid!_

A dark cloud of bats erupted from Vamdemon's cape, screeching and tearing through anything in their way. Vamdemon leapt off of her to watch as his former captor was devoured alive by the ravenous bats, unable to move or even scream. The last thing she saw was Vamdemon's ice-blue eyes.

The bats, satiated with the fresh data from their newest victim, disappeared into their throes beneath the cape. Vamdemon, his mission fulfilled, buttoned up his tunic and reclasped his black mantle around his neck. He removed the eight tags from his pocket, examining them with tremendous satisfaction, and slid the eighth crest into its empty holder. This one would remain with him, he decided with a sly grin, sliding it around his neck so it rested beneath his tunic, and concealing the string with his crimson cravat. He may be more worthy of them than Daemon.

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><p>Upon receiving his offering of the crests, Daemon examined them with eager intent, and seeing that they were authentic, clutched them in his hand. "Well done, Vamdemon," he praised the vampire. He then mused, "Seven. Just as predicted… what superstition those humans place on plastic number power. Do they really believe that seven items automatically binds them to the angels and gives them the power of HolyAngemons?" He chuckled and admired his prize again. "HolyAngemon was certainly not on their side today; every human has been snuffed out thanks to those mechanised armies, and the last one remaining has fleed the continent. Perhaps I underestimated your tactfulness, Vamdemon. You might as well take the castle into your possession."<p>

Vamdemon gave his comrade an acknowledging nod and returned to the tower where he stood sentinel earlier that night. Although the evening with LadyDevimon multiplied his pleasure tenfold, it reminded him of another. He peeled off his cape and shirt, dropping them to the floor, and removed his mask and shook his wet hair off. He kept the tag and crest around his neck to guard them. The cool night breeze cleansed and refreshed his skin. He closed his eyes and remembered the face for which he had longed for so many months, possibly years.

_My love, where is she?_

Someday, she would be his. She would attain a human form as he did, and he would be free to do with her as he pleased. She completed him. Without her, he would never be whole.

_To be continued_...


	5. The Lusticon

Footnotes:

Oh my gosh, I was seriously FLOORED by the five comments on the story! I'm so embarrassed that this one was about half-finished for several months before shit happened… it was burning a hole in my computer and I felt so bad that all of you had commented and I had nothing to show for it! THANK YOU~ However all of that is moot, for after many cans of Diet Coke and pushing myself in any available spare time, this is complete!

Anyhoo, onward! Perhaps this should give a hint as to why Vamdemon always held such an affinity for Tailmon… she was favoured above all, after all. Anyone else think Daemon can read minds? I certainly do, and remember, when Daemon gave Vamdemon some of his power to help him digivolve, I literally mean some of his power… just remember when you read this, some events may seem coincidential, but Daemon is a sneaky mo-fo! ;)

Isis was the protector of the dead in Egyptian mythology, as well as the goddess of rebirth and reincarnation.

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><p><strong>Chapter Four – The Lusticon<strong>

"_In these times, passion hath become more than any spirit, haunted or divine; flesh hath become the image, and our lust as the sacrament of it all."_

Blanketed beneath layers of stone ceilings and floors and entombed in crimson velvet, blue eyes stared into the endless abyss of their owners' chaotic consciousness. Feverish dreams plagued his sleep, and swathed in the walls of his coffin, Vamdemon questioned his state of mind. Had he truly achieved this form, or was it all simply a feverish dream created by the mind of his Devidramon form to repress the harsh reality of the diner?

The thrill of the events so many nights ago had worn thin, yet he longed to indulge in the female form once more. That night, he and LadyDevimon were equals, joined as one as their limbs entwined. Her sanctuary, befouled by Piemon, was hardly one in which Vamdemon planned to revisit. Another womon lingered on his mind; to him she remained pristine and virginal, the Angel of Light. How he longed to taste her sweet nectar and return her into his possession.

It seemed so long ago that she abandoned him. So many lonely nights atop Infinity Mountain, so many fires smouldering to ash, so many lies he fed himself to swallow misery. He was once Pegasusmon, Flying Hope, yet as each night passed, the once blazing flame of his hope faded to a flicker. In his baptism into darkness and rebirth he clung to that dying light in hopes that his angel would return and ignite it once more.

He ran a hand over his bare face, feeling the jagged line that spanned the plain between his eyes. The fibrous bands of scar tissue felt rough beneath his fingers, still burning from the slash of LadyDevimon's Dark Spear. The image replayed. The flashes of black and red. Searing. Scarlet stains occluding his view and running warmly down his face. Screaming. Poison… His canine punctured the hand whose skin grazed it; an iron sapor trespassed into his consciousness. The air caressed his bare skin and every hollow of his frame, exceedingly slender from languishing on a diet of his victims' blood. Once a Dramon, he could easily disguise himself as one of _them_ now. Of all the creatures in this world, his Perfect form resembled the lowest of all species.

_Would she even know what I have become?_

"Vamdemon." Daemon's voice, muffled by the walls of the casket, shattered the stony silence.

The demon's presence served as a double-edged sword to the vampire. The one who brought him to power could be regarded as an equal, yet the one with whom Vamdemon truly wished to share the spoils was a mate.

_My love. Where is she?_

"Vamdemon," Daemon repeated, his voice now as clear as if the two had been sharing the casket.

The vampire hastily redressed himself and placed his mask upon his face, feeling it conform to the skin beneath, then opened his velvety confinement with a creak. Rising from his resting place, he found himself staring into the golden glow of his ally's eyes.

"Daemon," he addressed the one he called his equal.

"Come, let us walk," said Daemon, his sleeve listing in the direction of the door as if blown by an imaginary wind. Said wind opened the door with an unsettling creak. Daemon stood in his position, like an adventurer with a false sense of bravado who waited for his fellow explorer to test a dangerous bridge. "Well?"

Vamdemon gave a wry glance to the demon, not wishing to yield to anyone else's commands, but decided to amuse Daemon for the time. He left the room, deciding that if Daemon were to choose the walk, he would select the destination. Vamdemon was not about to prove himself a servant once more.

The walk proceeded in silence. Passing through the palace that was now home, seeing the Bakemon servants that were now his, and entering vacant rooms that he could fashion to his every whim gave the vampire a sense of "home" that had never been achieved since his birthplace of File Island. It was not until near the end of the journey that the cadence of footsteps and water dripping from the ceiling was broken.

"Answer me truthfully… are you content here?" inquired the spectre.

Vamdemon knew that he was obligated to give Daemon the answer that he desired. "Of course," he replied in a tone stiffer than any of the liquor he was forced to drink those years ago. "Why would I not be content?"

Daemon's eyes curled into a smiling visage. "Ah, but I know you are not. The winter of your discontent has arrived prematurely, Devidramon."

The vampire tensed hearing the name of his previous form. Did part of Devidramon still resonate within him? "Vamdemon," he corrected the demon, losing his normal guard of stoicism.

"Slip of the tongue," Daemon dismissed. They approached a set of double doors, which opened to reveal the dark, cavernous interior of a study. Bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with ancient texts, lined three walls. Facing the velvet-draped fourth wall stood a desk covered in parchment and quills, faced by a chair that could have doubled as a king's throne. The demon, finding an intimate corner of the room, sat in one of two chairs that flanked a mahogany cabinet, upon which were placed two glasses of ruby wine. "Come, sit down. I poured us both a drink."

Vamdemon lowered himself into the chair, still sitting upright and alert, but taking a sip of the wine set before him. Although he had lost all taste for the food and liquid he consumed as a Child and Adult, as all reminded him of the hardships he endured under servitude, wine still served its appeal. His bats, following him unyieldingly, flew into the rafters and settled into their upside-down perches.

Daemon left his own serving untouched. "Excellent vintage," he commented. "A taste for wine and good books distinguishes a young aristocrat such as yourself from the peons. A discriminating palate and well-exercised mind can do wonders… Few humans have done so much as look at a chess manual, yet a mastery of the game gives you a sharper edge over other generals on the battlefield. With enough practice, you would make a magnificent general…"

_And __you __aspire __to __be __the __king __whom __I, __the __knight, __protects_, Vamdemon snarked to himself, taking another sip from his chalice.

"But Vamdemon, you have not answered my question." Daemon's eyes narrowed, as if his eyelids tiredly drooped, and the candlelight dimmed accordingly. "Are you content with your newfound power?"

_Of__ course __not._ "Of course I am." A deeper draught drained the glass half-empty.

"Your tone suggests otherwise. Perhaps there is something amiss from this palace…"

_Nefertimon. _"Why would anything be missing? The palace is—" _mine._ "—ours, Piemon's Bakemon servants belong to us,—" _How__ could __they __belong __to __the __one __who __did __not __work __to __earn __them? __Over __the __years__ I __could __have __evolved __to __this __stage, __with __time __as __the __only __missing __factor._ "-and this library alone holds the keys to the digital world."

"But…" Daemon swirled the contents of his glass, which turned to vapour and smoked into the abyss beneath his hood, "…a physical world is nothing without a mate to share it with."

Vamdemon drained the remainder of wine from his glass.

"I can sense it within you, Vamdemon. A lost love from your previous life… you were still blinded by bliss, so brightened by her presence… you were so naïve then, were you not? You thought your friendship and love were unbreakable, but she left you… the light faded. Nothing is as cruel as a Child or Adult, nor is nothing as naïve as the other.

"But you have never forgotten her, her smile nor her eyes, and your memories of her have continued to burn brightly. I can sense it within you, Vamdemon… that glimmer of hope within those blue eyes of yours that one day she will be yours."

How the vampire wished that another serving of wine had poured itself into his chalice! His bats, still perched in their resting position in the rafters, began to screech and flutter their wings discomfitingly.

"Do not try to deny it, Vamdemon; I have heard you mutter her name countless times in your sleep… _Nefertimon_, hm… a name fitting an angel of light, but her behaviour proved otherwise, did she not? She betrayed you, abandoned you, cares not that you sacrificed your life to find her…"

The bats' screeches resonated through the rafters once more, followed by the rustling of wings and the flutters of five that abandoned their posts.

"What chance is there of her returning for you?" Daemon continued. "If she did remember, she would set out to find a Pegasusmon… the Flying Hope, not Vamdemon, the Prince of Blood."

"Liar!" Vamdemon shouted reflexively, standing up and pounding his hand against the table. His bats swooped down from the rafters, as if practicing for their Night Raid attack, and dive-bombed Daemon before turning around and retreating.

Daemon's body remained stoic and unyielding, though he cracked a chuckle and his eyes curled into amused crescents. "It appears that you not only possess the outward appearance of a human, but the emotional stability of one as well… one might as well drop the "-mon" from your name and replace it with a surname." He chuckled once more.

Although a vein popped out from beneath the skin on the vampire's forehead and his bats swooped down from encircling the ceiling, Vamdemon knew that he could never allow Daemon to win. "Hold your tempers," he told his bats. The flock returned to the ceiling.

"I understand that your feelings toward me have hardened, Vamdemon," said Daemon, "but please understand what I am telling you… you do not wish to spend your life setting yourself up for disappointment. What are the odds that she could even assume the same form as yours… as Pegasusmon and Nefertimon, your forms were both armour-clad beasts, but you now walk on two legs with no armour upon yourself… what is the probability that she does the same? Would she even know who you are, or who she is?" He leaned in closer to Vamdemon, so he had no other views except the eyes and dark abyss that lay beneath his hood. "I am simply sparing you…"

Glancing into the empty black hole that opened up beneath the hood, Vamdemon felt a chill carrying itself down his spine… he glanced downward, his gaze drawn to the orb that rested around Daemon's neck. As benign as it once appeared, the vampire noticed an unsettling orange glow emanating from the crystal. Forms, trapped within its confines, writhed and convulsed as if desperately trying to escape, while others bared fiery eyes and hissed. Then, like images flashing across a distant memory, figures gained more clarity. Scenes switched on and off, in settings unseen to the viewer… and then…

Nefertimon?

Was that her?

An armoured feline, soaring through a desert sky, appeared in a blur of cerulean and gold so vibrant it could only be concocted by a dream. Two pyramids punctured the background, one perched carefully atop the other. A spout of sand rose from the ground and swallowed her up. Flashes of red. Black lightning. Did they hit her?

The sandspout fell to the ground, scattering clouds in its path. In Nefertimon's place, a beautiful womon hovered, the most glorious sight upon which Vamdemon had ever laid his blue eyes. He only caught a glimpse of her face, like an angel's adorned with dramatic kohl-rimmed eyes, and framed by her black hair and an elaborate throne-shaped headdress. Scarlet robes fluttered around her figure, and the sun framed her in a dramatic display—

And then a streak of black hit her.

A scream resounded through Vamdemon's mind, as if she had been right next to him, or inside his very head. A burn seared through his scar. He clenched his eyes together, waiting for the sting to fade, and opened his eyes again. For a split second, he saw the former Nefertimon, _his _Nefertimon, lying on the floor of a stone cell. The image shut off.

Though the sting conducted itself beneath his mask, Vamdemon paid no heed to his physical pain. His stomach coiled as he realised the final image struck an indescribable chord with him. "S—she's here."

Daemon's calm demeanour stood unbroken. "Who is here?"

"She's dying!" Vamdemon uttered a little too hastily.

Surely he could not be so tipsy off of one glass of wine! How could something previously unseen be constructed by his mind, especially a scene so vibrant? Everything, from the desert to the attack on the evolved Nefertimon to the cell, seemed vaguely familiar to Vamdemon, and he knew that his mind was too sharp to play tricks on itself. He scrambled out of the room, frantically, searching his mind for any direct route to the dungeon in the cellar, and not caring how many Bakemon he shoved out of the way with his Bloody Stream. Daemon's voice resonated through his mind.

"_Everything is in your head. Nefertimon does not remember you, she does not know where to search, she could be in any prison in this digital world…"_

Out of breath, his throat parched and temperature rising beneath his heavy tunic, Vamdemon reached the final set of stairs that led to the cellar. The frigid, moist air caressed what little bare skin that remained exposed, and he removed his gloves to allow himself to cool down. His heart pounding in his chest, Vamdemon opened the single wooden door and entered the winding labrynth of cells and storage spaces, frustrated to see scattered straw or food preserved for humans during the winter months.

Finally, he came upon a passageway that sent his sympathetic system awry, knowing he had seen it before in a dream… or the vision…

In one of the cells lay a pile of scarlet rags, stained by time and filth… with a closer look, the rags intermingled with tarnished golden bangles, some inlaid by jewels, some not, others clearly broken… a throne-shaped headdress lay abandoned in a corner.

The pile stirred.

Vamdemon drew closer. He knew who she was…

_Bloody stream._

The lock broke, and the barred door opened without effort. Vamdemon stood in the doorway, reluctant to gaze more closely at whoever lay on the ground.

"Who… who are… you?" The voice, clearly female, rang deep and sultry despite its owner's weariness.

"It- it is I, V—Vamdemon… Are you—or rather, _were_ you a Nefertimon?"

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I promise you, I will never hurt you. Answer me, were you once a Nefertimon?"

"Why do you ask? It is unimportant… I'm dying."

Those words cut through the vampire like his own fangs. "Answer me… because I was once the Pegasusmon who loved you, and you loved."

The womon stirred again, revealing her face… identical to the one visible in the orb. Albeit weathered and thin, deprived of sun and food for days at the very least, and covered with blood and gashes, it still remained recognizable. Vamdemon could see through Death if he wished, becoming well-acquainted with him. Perhaps he could save her, but he knew that she was knocking on Death's door.

"What is your name?" Vamdemon inquired. "I promise I will not hurt you."

"Isismon…" The name rang so beautifully to the vampire, even more suited to a goddess like herself.

Isismon, the queen of the desert.

No title had ever proven itself more befitting.

Though the stunning queen lay stripped of her power, drained of her life, and limply on the ground as the remains of her time, to Vamdemon she seemed as regal as the day she turned Ultimate. She recoiled as Vamdemon knelt down beside her and took her hand in his, the contrast between their skin—his pale blue and her golden brown—more stark than ever.

"Who did this to you?" asked Vamdemon, knowing the humans who had once resided in this castle were most suitable to blame.

Isismon heaved a dying breath. Could there be a semblance of tears brimming in her eyes? "I don't remember…" Her utterance slipped out from a chokehold, fighting staggered breath and the sorrow in her heart.

The vampire found a clay cup half-filled with water and held it to his maiden's parched lips. "Here, drink this," he offered, hoping it would afford her one last chance.

Despite her dehydration, she refused. It was as if she had lost her will to live, and wished to not suffer for any longer.

"Try to remember." Vamdemon's blue eyes concentrated on the amethyst of Isismon's. "Who did this? What did they look like?"

"I don't know… I don't know who you are…"

The blonde sunk into his knees and gently lifted his dark-haired love off the floor. He was grateful that she did not protest as he slid her onto his lap and against his chest. It was better, after all, to spend one's final moments listening to a loved one's heart beating than spending it alone on the floor of a dungeon cell. "I was the Pegasusmon you knew, the one from the island… we spent many nights atop the mountain… do not tell me you don't remember the firelight, our song…? '_Would__ that __the __song __of __my __heart __could __go __winging, __could __go __winging __to __you, __to __you_?' It never escaped my memories, even when all others were lost…"

He hoped she would say yes.

Please, oh please, say yes…

Tears stained her kohl-rimmed eyes as the vampire cradled her chin in his hands, caressing the sides of her face and holding her against his chest. She wrapped her trembling hands around his, and with staggered breath whispered, "No. I don't remember…" The silvery sheen within her eyes quickly turned to a kohl-stained rivulet that flowed down her cheeks. Onto the vampire's bare hands, the river of tears flowed warm, then cooled to ice… stone-cold as the reality he now faced.

An icy wave washed over Vamdemon, and his stomach tightened into a coil. "I never forgot," he whispered. "Even in death I remembered…"

Isismon closed her eyes and tilted her face into Vamdemon's hands. She could no longer stifle her final tears. "In death…" she sighed the second word as if welcoming an old friend. "Perhaps I will remember then." A tear rolled down her cheek, staining the glove and warming the hand of the mon who loved her above all measure and gave everything to be with her again.

"Let me look into your eyes, one last time," implored the vampire, stifling all that uprose within his own. Blue gazed into violet, her dying warmth still penetrating his soul… No words were needed. If at all, they might do more harm than good… all he wanted her to see was to gaze into the eyes of the one who loved her more than anything, the one who risked his life, journeyed through death and back, sold his very soul, to see her beautiful face again.

_Nefertimon__…__ beautiful__ Nefertimon._ The Plotmon he knew in the Village of Beginnings, the Tailmon whose eyes spoke naught but love and trust, the Nefertimon with whom he journeyed to the summit of Infinity Mountain. Infinity… infinite as the love poor naïve Pegasusmon once thought they held.

_What happened to us, my beautiful Angel of Light?_

How could a queen who bloomed so brightly in the middle of the desert, shimmering with the golden sun and grains of sand, fall for someone like Vamdemon? The Dark Prince of Blood, he scorned himself mentally. Preying on blood and fear, an angel of death… queen of the desert's underworld Isismon could possibly become, but her light and his darkness could never coexist. Was it a wonder she forgot him?

"V… Vamdemon…" Isismon whispered, gazing into the vampire's blue eyes.

Not uttering a word, Vamdemon stared at Isismon, yearning to hear what he longed for her to say.

"I'm sorry…" with her final ounce of strength, she lifted her head and shook it in a _no_ gesture. "I wish I could remember… but you someday find your true queen."

Isismon, the desert queen, shut her eyes and fell back into Vamdemon's arms. The vampire felt her full weight falling into him, then the weight suddenly lifting, watching his love evanesce before her, sublimating into data fragments, disappearing… as if she had never been present. The warmth of her touch still lingered on her lover's hands, but soon vanished as she had.

As his love died, so did the last remaining ray of light within Vamdemon.

* * *

><p>He remained unaware of how long he remained in that cell…to the immortal, time was no object. It might have been hours, minutes, or days, but he remained in solitude with his melancholy. He nearly expected Daemon to burst into the dungeon and give another speech about how it was all in his head; even if it was an illusion, he wished to never know. For now, Vamdemon remained alone in the empty cell; he might as well have been a prisoner within his own walls. Trapped within this immortal prison, assuming the form of a human, to him the lowest of the species in this world and those responsible for Isismon's final demise. Her digitama had been destroyed, thus she remained forever deleted.<p>

Gazing out the barred window to his only view of the outside world, Vamdemon's thoughts travelled to the image in the orb. It replayed; rewound; paused on the sight of Isismon dying in this very cell. It was barely coincidence that she could have been found here… Had Daemon's orb displayed the image for a reason? Was there any significance to how he had arrived at the moment of her death? Did he want him to know and gain some closure? Perhaps it was better that he saw Isismon in her final moments rather than spending eternity—quite literally—searching for her.

Despite all efforts, she left this world forever.

He could never bring her back…

She was irreplaceable.

Unless…

How many womon like LadyDevimon were certain to exist? Vamdemon remembered that night in Piemon's chambers, when all remained forgotten except for LadyDevimon and his own carnal desires. If Isismon truly remained gone forever, he could fashion any female being to bend and sway to his every whim. No manhood could discriminate between what made a female _female_; as long as she could be fully his, as beautiful as his former love, Isismon could always remain by his side.

Every womon could be his mate, his queen… as he wished.

The diaphanous veil of clouds parted into a curtain, revealing a full moon, red as the blood the vampire hunted, staining the valley below a violent shade of scarlet. The hunt had begun…

The forest cloaked him in darkness as he wandered through the twisted pathways carved by nature. The skeletal branches, clattering in the howling wind and creating grotesque puppet shows with their shadows, seemed ideal for producing fear. How delicious the woman's blood has tasted, mused Vamdemon. Like LadyDevimon's, so flavourful and thirst-quenching, and that slight dash of fear spiced it to perfection.

In the hunt, Vamdemon knew he needed to keep his wits about him; how readily he could miss the scent of his sustenance. The bouquet of blood, fresh from the dying victims who lay helplessly in the forest, could be easily detected yet just as readily lost.

And then…

A fresh breeze wafted past, carrying with it the unmistakable musk that belonged to a humanoid female. So sweet, strong, flowery, intertwining with the metallic odour of that crimson liquid that flowed through her veins. The vampire's vision sharpened, and the traces of Devidramon's animalistic urges reemerged as he followed the scented trail. She would not know he was coming…

* * *

><p>A Rosemon, the forest's queen and caretaker, the mother of all floral life beneath the branches, slept soundly in her bed of juniper. Lulled to sleep by the rhythmic flow of the stream, she remained blissfully uaware that tonight would be her last. Her breast rose and fell like the ebb and flow of the tides; her crimson lips gently parted; her head rolled to the side, exposing her ivory neck…<p>

A crack of a twig jolted her from her slumber.

She glanced around, breathing quickening, searching rapidly for the source of the noise. Though the forest mothered all life, it also proved itself a dangerous, even deadly, foe.

The faerie heard a slight rustling above her head, surrounding her from above and descending beneath the tree branches. Winged shapes folded inwards and outwards from the branches; Rosemon suspected that these were not leaves when they emitted several shrill shrieks.

"Who's there?" she demanded, too terrified to attack.

A breath gently caressed her ear; a cold hand did the same to her arm. "Do not be afraid, my pet," a male voice whispered in Rosemon's ear, prickling the vines on her head. "Do I look like someone who would hurt you?"

He let Rosemon go; and the latter turned around to examine this unwelcome guest. Cloaked in a shroud of fog, like her, he appeared as an angel with his blonde hair and well-chiselled face more beautiful than she could imagine a male humanoid to possess. Her eyes, concealed behind her floral regalia, met the blue eyes of her visitor. His eyes… those eyes! They beckoned to Rosemon to hand herself to him, and though she knew she mustn't gaze any longer, each time she drew away, the eyes pulled her back in. A chill ran down her spine, and each leaf within the wall of fog crusted over with frost.

Vamdemon ran a finger down Rosemon's petal-soft cheek, his fangs lengthening at the thought of plunging into her. "Tell me your name, child…"

"R—Rosemon," stammered the faerie, never averting her gaze from those eyes. "Queen of the forest."

"And you rule alone?" Vamdemon inquired.

"Certainly," Rosemon answered, a thorn whip sprouting in one of her hands.

"It must be lonely," mused the vampire, "as a queen without a king with whom to rule. Perhaps spending so many lonely nights was a sacrifice you did not wish to make for an entire domain…"

Rosemon tensed up, still under her unwanted guest's touch. "P-perhaps," she admitted.

"You need not lie to me, Rosemon. Lonely child… the forest is yours, even the dirt is under your control, but there is none who is worthy of being your equal… but I rule over even you. I am the King of Eternal Night… join me, child, and you will become whole…" Vamdemon leaned in, seeing his prey struggling to not gaze into his eyes, but he would not allow her to break free.

_Thorn whip! _

_Bloody stream!_

The two whips clashed in the air, but the electrified blood seared the thorned vine and ripped it apart. The bloody whip tore into the petals from that flower child's helmet, exposing her black eyes; Vamdemon stared firmly into them with his own ice-blues.

Rosemon dropped her thorn whip. Her world had turned to a dreamlike haze, and all she knew were his eyes.

The fog barrier now enclosed the two, sealing anything from entering or escaping. Rosemon saw the opaque white that surrounded them and the bats, and her blood ran cold.

The fear in Rosemon's veins overpowered Vamdemon's senses, and his vision zeroed in on the artery that pulsated through her neck.

"Accept your baptism into eternal night!" Vamdemon exclaimed, relishing one last appetizing glance into Rosemon's terrified eyes before plunging into her. His fangs tore into her silken flesh, and his bats tore at her clothing until their owner could reach the most desired places. Vamdemon closed his eyes, sucking and lapping her sweet nectar, devouring her life as quickly as it flowed out, and imagining Isismon wrapped around him.

With a final scream, she fell to the dirt below, and her blonde attacker robed himself and wiped the honeyed blood from his chin.

"You were quite a delicacy, child…" said Vamdemon to that night's meal, who now lay on the ground, her petals crinkling into brown and legs still splayed over the frosted, dying juniper that was once her bed. As the fog dissipated, leaves dropped from the trees over their queen's resting place. "You may believe that you rule the forest, but as long as night exists, your domain is mine."

Leaving his latest victim enough blood to stay alive, the vampire decided she was worthy of enjoying again when he needed to whet both his appetites. He would need to discriminate more next time, so as to not draw more attention to himself, he thought, and not leave every victim alive… but of course, who would believe someone without any witnesses?

His thoughts were interrupted by a burning sensation against the skin of his chest; he glanced down to notice a pink glow beneath his tunic. That crest he kept safely on him… could it be that? Removing the tag from around his neck, he noticed that surely enough, the crest glowed vibrantly enough to hurt his eyes. How could it be?

Vamdemon also knew that he could not stay for much longer; the vermilion glow of sunlight would soon break in the sky. The next hunt, he thought, would be for so much more than his next meal.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued<em>


End file.
